


sunflowers, sunshine, and you

by soldouthaz



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: !!!, American Louis, Anal Sex, Bottom Louis, Boy the dog, Cowboy Harry, Enemies to Lovers, Harry is a sheriff, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Rimming, Southern Harry, Top Harry, Unsafe Sex, bad past relationships, see notes for more info, sheriff harry, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:28:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27323527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soldouthaz/pseuds/soldouthaz
Summary: Sunshine county is small but mighty and Harry takes pride in knowing nearly each and every person that lives inside of it. For nearly eleven years now he’s been sheriff, and not one of them he’s ever regretted settling down here.He knows the road names like the back of his hand, knows the people and the animals and the way the world works here. In all of the time he’s been here, not a thing has changed.So, all things considered, when he starts seeing a beat up pickup truck roaming through town with plates he’s never seen before, Harry, to be frank, jumps on that like a fly on fresh dog shit.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 106
Kudos: 621





	sunflowers, sunshine, and you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cowboyharrystan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowboyharrystan/gifts).



> hi all! I hope everyone's doing well :) 
> 
> before you get to reading, please note that this fic does include mentions of past domestic violence. there are NO GRAPHIC ABUSE SCENES, although louis DOES RECOUNT MINOR DETAILS OF IT TO HARRY. if you have ANY questions before reading, please feel free to reach out to me, and I can help you decide if it's a good fit for you or not! 
> 
> besides that, I'd just like to thank ris (falsegoodnight) as always for being my partner in crime and best beta I could ask for. I still have no idea what I'd do without you. and then another thank you to alex for being my friend, being unfailingly sweet and kind and supportive of me always, and for just being really, really cool. I'm so happy I got to know you this year and that you gave me an excuse to further indulge my southern harry delusions :))) happy birthday, lovely friend! 
> 
> enjoy! <3

By the time the sun sets over Aimsley, Texas, Sheriff Styles has managed a fairly productive day. 

He fed his dog, Boy, breakfast and ate next to him with his coffee before he left the house. The bull didn’t get loose down at Old Richard’s farm again, and the daily fights behind the dusty cinema seem to have tapered off for the colder season. This morning he helped a stray mutt find its way back home and helped taste test some of the new pie flavors at the bakery on the downtown strip, pulling over to the side of the road for a bit to smell the  sunflowers that are just growing in along the drive. 

Sunshine county is small but mighty and Harry takes pride in knowing nearly each and every person that lives inside of it. For nearly eleven years now he’s been sheriff, and not one of them he’s ever regretted settling down here. 

He values familiarity more than just about anything else, really. He likes the way that his coffee tastes every morning, the sound of the chickens on the other side of the road that always wake him up on time, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table after a long day’s work. If he had his way, nothing would change for the rest of his life. 

In every other aspect, Sheriff Styles likes to think he’s a pretty compassionate, forgiving guy. But when it comes to Aimsley and the people inside of it, he’s fiercely protective. They’re good people and he’d readily do just about anything to protect them. 

He knows the road names like the back of his hand, knows the people and the animals and the way the world works here. In all of the time he’s been here, not a thing has changed. 

So, all things considered, when he starts seeing a beat up pickup truck roaming through town with plates he’s never seen before, Harry, to be frank, jumps on that like a fly on fresh dog shit. 

+

He notices the broken tail light first. It’s obvious once the sun starts to go down, and Harry follows behind the old red truck all the way to Marguerite's bar in downtown Aimsley. He doesn’t even bother with trying to be discrete, pulling into the lot right next to the guy when he finally parks. 

A petite man hops down from the lift of the truck, dropping to the gravel below. He shuts the door behind him and locks it with a key, then stuffs them back into his pocket. Harry notes the way he limps slightly as he turns, giving Harry’s patrol car a tentative, nervous smile. 

_ Yeah, _ Harry thinks,  _ he  _ should _ be nervous. _

Opening his own door, Harry makes his way over to him, the dirt crunching beneath his boots. He’s more than interested in finding out who this guy is, and what the hell he’s doing in sunshine county. 

“Afternoon,” Harry greets loudly. 

The man, who’d been watching him approach with wide eyes, stutters his own introduction. 

“Good afternoon, officer,” he murmurs, lip caught between his teeth. Harry narrows his gaze. 

“Haven’t seen you around here before,” he pushes. 

“I just moved,” the guy rushes, “I work for Marguerite here at the bar.” 

Interesting. Harry’s good friends with each of the landlords out here and he checks the books quite frequently. There’ve been no new rentals in the last six months. 

“Well, that’s great, but you’re ridin’ around town with a broken tail light,” Harry tells him, eager to get to the point. He figures he can handle the living situation later. He pulls his pad from the back of his trousers to write up a ticket, smirking slightly when the man gasps and begins to fidget. “That’s a real danger to the citizens, don’t’ya think?” 

“I - I’m so sorry, sheriff. I’ve been meaning to get it fixed I just haven’t, uhm, had the time recently. Things have been kind of hectic with the - the move and everything,” he stumbles over his words. 

“I’m real sorry to hear that,” Harry drawls, filling out the information on the ticket. “But-” 

He’s about to ask the guy for his identification when Marguerite comes out of the bar, hands on her hips, and glances between the both of them. 

“What’s goin’ on here?” she demands. 

The man already has starry tears in his eyes as he glances hopefully to her and then back to Harry, but Harry only scowls underneath his sunglasses, taking them off to speak to her properly. 

“Evening, Ms. Marguerite,” Harry greets. “I was just writin’ a ticket here for a broken tail light.” 

“There’s no need, sheriff.” 

She steps down further and approaches them in the parking lot, stepping close to the guy and patting him on the arm. Marguerite raises a hand to her graying hair to block the sun and peek at the tail light in question. 

“I’ll pay to have it fixed,” she decides. 

Startling again, the man wipes at his eyes and shakes his head. “Marguerite,” he starts. 

“Don’t you say a word,” she warns him. 

“I’m afraid that’s not the way it works,” Harry grits, clutching his pen harder in between his fingers. He doesn’t much like being challenged by people he’s known for years, especially in front of strangers on  _ his _ land. 

“It works the way I say it works, sheriff. You ‘n me will stay and talk about it while Louis here starts setting up inside,” she says. “Go inside now,” Marguerite shoos him toward the front door, patting him on the hip as he passes quickly with his head down, avoiding all eye contact. Harry frowns under his mustache, watching him walk away with a noticeable limp in his step. 

“I don’t like him,” Harry deadpans once he’s inside and out of earshot. “He’s suspicious.” 

Marguerite fixes him with a sideways glance, halfway amused and halfway annoyed like usual. She huffs as she walks over to her car a few spots over, opening the trunk and beginning to unload boxes of inventory. Harry follows her, shoving his notepad back into his pocket angrily. 

“Sheriff, he seems to be about the least suspicious person I ever laid my eyes on,” she drawls. 

“It’s always the quiet ones,” Harry counters, “the ones you least expect.” 

“Look, he’s just trying to make a living, alright? I’ll keep an eye on ‘im and if I see anything the slightest bit suspicious I’ll make sure to let you know.” 

Nodding slowly, Harry eyes the stairs at the back of the bar through the glass window front where Louis disappeared. He doesn’t really care whether or not Marguerite believes him right now - he’s a good sheriff because he trusts his own intuition and that’s not something that’s going to change anytime soon. 

“We don’t get tourists out here,” Harry reminds her. “People only stop if the car breaks down.” 

“He ain’t a tourist,” Marguerite huffs. “He’s workin’ for me at the bar. Seems like he really wants to settle down. Just moved into the apartment upstairs.” 

“He’s livin’ in the attic?” Harry raises a brow, even more curious at the guy the more he hears. That attic is the very same one he remembers helping her shove all of her extra boxes into, cluttered with junk and cobwebs and definitely no place to be living. That must be why Harry hasn’t seen any new rentals lately. 

“I cleaned it all up. S’got a bed and a shower and a sink,” she shrugs, then fixes him with a stern look. “And I own the building, Sheriff, so don’t you go telling him he has to get out, neither.” 

Giving a sigh of his own, Harry lets down his tough-sheriff act for a moment to help her finish unloading the rest of the boxes onto the sidewalk and onto the cart so she can roll them inside to empty them with new silverware and glasses. Once the trunk is empty, Harry spares one final glance at the pickup parked adjacent and scowls. 

“You call me if you hear anything, yeah? Anything at all.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” she groans, waving him off as she closes the trunk and pushes the cart inside. 

Harry holds the door open for her and bids her another goodbye, then turns and heads back to his patrol car. His attempts to intimidate the new man and run him out were unsuccessful. He’ll have to try again when Marguerite isn’t around, which may be difficult considering he both lives and works in this building. 

_ Louis, _ he thinks, recalling what she’d called him earlier,  _ who are you?  _

Harry’s going to find out, one way or another. Nobody comes here without baggage or a story, and he bets it isn’t a good one. Harry buckles his seat belt and pulls out of the lot just as the man reappears at the window, turning the CLOSED sign to OPEN!. 

Holding the eye contact, Harry smirks when the man -  _ Louis _ \- glances away first, his eyes down and cheeks flushed. It’s going to be an interesting few days. 

+

A few days turns into a few weeks, much to Harry’s dismay. 

The guy just won’t leave. No matter how hard Harry glares at him or how many times he stops by the bar randomly, he can never catch him doing anything worthy of kicking him the hell out of town. 

Marguerite paid to fix his tail light like she’d promised, so now he doesn’t even have  _ that _ to rely on. And, if sensing that Harry’s waiting for him to mess up, he never really goes anywhere. His truck stays parked and unmoving behind a big garbage receptacle around the side of the building. Unfortunately, Louis seems fairly boring. 

But Harry isn’t a quitter, and he still trusts his gut when it comes to things like this. Every few days he still stops by to check in, and today is one of those days. 

He likes to do it randomly in hopes of catching Louis doing something criminal like stealing inventory or bringing drugs into town like they’ve had people do before, or even something simple like drinking while he’s supposed to be working. 

Another unfortunate thing is that Marguerite is the most hard headed woman he’s ever met, and she’s so stubborn that Harry knows something small wouldn’t make her fire him. It’s got to be big, and he’s got to have proof. 

So he parks behind the treeline each time he stops by unannounced, alternating between showing up when they’re in the after dinner rush and when they’re not busy at all for some variety. He’s got to be smart about all this. 

Tonight, the place is packed. Nearly every parking spot is taken up and there are people seated outside as well, sipping their beers in folding chairs they’d brought from home. Harry smiles at the familiar faces as he saunters past the groups socializing, pausing to exchange a few words with them before he heads inside. 

Louis doesn’t even notice him when he makes his way up to the bar, leaning on it with his elbows to get a better look. 

He’s a few feet away from Harry, seeming frantic as he helps all of the customers in the stools, all yelling and cheering at a game that’s showing on the television behind his head. Albeit hurried, Louis admittedly seems like he’s handling them better than the last guy that worked here, a teenager serving his community service with no other options. 

Harry’s reluctant to admit all of that though, so he keeps his chin high and waits until he’s noticed, eyeing the smaller man’s movements as he prepares drinks and talks with customers. 

When Louis finally does notice him, he’s bent down trying to find another rag to dry up one of the spilled drinks further down the bar. He glances up and over, right to where Harry’s sitting, and does a double take, accidentally hitting the top of his head on the wood when he stands back up abruptly. 

“Sheriff Styles,” he breathes, eyes wide. “I - uhm, can I help you with something?” 

“Just comin’ by to check up on the place,” he smiles fakely, his cheeks firm as he tucks his glasses into the collar of his shirt. 

“Oh, alright. Uhm, let me know if I can get you anything,” he says. 

“Will do,” Harry nods, glancing around the displays and the booths, nodding at some of the customers. 

Louis limps away again and Harry’s eyes linger on him as he goes. For just a moment he considers trying to get upstairs and search his living space, but then he reasons with himself a bit and decides that he could definitely get in trouble for that. 

It’s never taken him this long to catch someone once he decides he  _ wants _ to catch them. It’s been just over two weeks now and Louis seems to be perfectly normal, speaking with people easily and falling into place without even trying. It makes Harry’s head hurt. 

They’ve had people pass through before and he’s cracked each of them within the same week of their arrival. Several drug dealers and a couple of thieves that tried to make friends before they broke into the businesses and attempted to leave with stolen property, but Harry caught all of them before they could do any damage to the people or the goods. Louis seems to be a tougher case and Harry can’t even figure out  _ why. _

There’s just - there’s got to be  _ something. _ Everyone in Aimsley is here for a reason. They’ve all got some kind of past that led them here. Harry feels like, even though it might not look like it to someone else, Aimsley is somewhere that should be earned. There’s a certain amount of appreciation that comes with that that random passersby just don’t have, and never will. 

He’d been planning on getting a drink so he could keep an eye on him a bit longer, but it’s much more crowded than he’d anticipated, and the yelling is beginning to give him a headache. Harry spares one final glance in Louis’ direction and scowls at his nervous smile, heading back out to his car. 

It seems he’s just going to have to be patient with this one. Harry trusts himself, and soon enough Marguerite will realize he’s right, too. There will be some point when Louis messes up, and when that happens Harry will be right there to make sure he catches every moment of it. 

For now, he’s just got to wait. 

+

The following Saturday, there’s a bake sale at the boutique-turned-bakery on the corner downtown to raise money for the school field trip, and Harry promised some of the kids he’d stop by for a bit. Usually he’s excited when this event comes around every year to help them sell, but this time it’s been tainted, like everything else, with Louis’ misplaced presence. 

He isn’t doing anything but standing off to the side of the crowd, but Harry keeps an eye on him nonetheless, ready to intervene should anything happen in such a wide open area where everyone’s gathered in one spot. 

Harry helps out with the kids for a bit and converses with their parents, handing out cookies and buying a few boxes of his own to take home for when he has a sweet tooth. It’s much more often than he’d like to admit. 

The afternoon draws on and he gets swept up in random conversations about the job and community gossip and he begins to get frustrated. Louis hasn’t moved far from his spot, staying out of people’s way, talking with Marguerite and a few others who come to introduce themselves. It isn’t often they get new people here, so Harry isn’t surprised that they’re intrigued. He is too. Just not in the smiling, happy kind of way that they are. 

As the sun begins to set he finally gives up. Today will not be the day he catches Louis doing something bad, he decides, but it will happen. 

“Told’ya he was harmless,” Marguerite smirks, sidling up next to him to nudge him in the arm. 

“I didn’t say he was harmin’ anybody,” Harry corrects her. “I said he was suspicious.” 

“He ain’t suspicious either, Mr. Styles,” she gives him a crooked smile. 

“Well, I’m sorry for bein’ the slightest bit  _ suspicious _ when every time I come in the door he jumps about ten feet,” Harry scoffs. 

“Sheriff,” Marguerite drawls, “I love you, but you can be real dense sometimes,” she says,  _ real _ lasting a few more seconds than necessary. 

“Excuse me?” Styles cocks his hip and raises a brow. 

“You think I’ve got time to explain it to you?” Marguerite scoffs. “I ain’t runnin’ that kind of business. You’ll have to head down to Sal’s if you wanna sit and gossip,” she gestures toward the barber shop down the road. 

“I’m comin’ back by the bar tomorrow,” Harry warns her to make himself feel better. 

“I’d expect nothin’ less,” she mutters with faux-enthusiasm. “One of these days I ain’t gonna give you any more free drinks. You don’t even drink ‘em.” 

“I’m a people watcher,” Harry argues. “I can’t drink on the job. I just need to blend in.” 

By some coincidence, as Marguerite laughs at his explanation, Harry catches Louis’ eye across the way - because he’s already looking. Louis blushes and whips his face in the other direction, smiling warmly at the woman he’d been talking to. Harry huffs and crosses his arms, his brows lowering again. 

“Everybody knows you, sheriff. Just a big tree with a mustache. Can’t miss ya,” she grins. 

“Hey,” Harry frowns, whining. “I’ll have you know-” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Marguerite waves a hand, “spare me. I’m goin’ to get another cookie. Need some for the ride home.” 

“You live less than three minutes away,” he snorts. 

Actively ignoring him, she keeps walking away toward the cookie table as they begin to close up. Just as she’s gone, Harry sees the woman Louis’d been talking to leave as well. He leans against the side of his patrol car and plays it cool, hoping Louis will take note of his aloofness and decide to do something that will show his true colors. 

He slides his sunglasses back on from when he’d removed them to talk to Marguerite to hide his gaze a bit more. At first he doesn’t think it’s going to work, but then Louis glances side to side, sets his drink down, and walks over to the cookie table as well, his bad leg dragging lightly when he walks. 

Harry watches as he pays for a cookie and then glances over his shoulder, biting his lip before stepping off to the side. He disappears for a moment in the small crowd gathered there, but then Harry sees him dip around the brick wall into the alley. 

_ Bingo.  _

Determination swimming in his gut, Harry begins walking the way he went, staying close to the wall so Louis won’t catch him. Ducking around people and behind some extra boxes out front, he makes it to the corner of the alley a ways away from everyone else. 

Quietly he holds his breath, waiting for some incriminating evidence. Anything could happen in an alley, he knows from unfortunate past experiences, and he runs through the options - drug dealing, public indecency,  _ murder. _ Perhaps the last option is a bit much, but Harry never rules anything out. 

Twice he hears a rock skid across concrete like Louis’ kicked it with his foot, and it takes another few minutes of silence before something finally happens. 

“Did you get it for me?” a voice asks suddenly, high and breathy in a whisper. 

“I did,” Louis murmurs back. 

_ This is it, _ Harry thinks. He’s already got a hand on his outer thigh in case he’ll need a weapon to take them down, his radio right next to it in case he needs backup. This is going to feel so good when he gets to say  _ I told you so. _

Harry leans out to peek around the corner, getting a feel for the scene before he steps in and intervenes. 

And then he deflates again. This is not a drug deal. Nor a hookup, nor a murder. 

No, this is just Louis, crouched down with a cookie held out in his hand, a very small child wide-eyed and grinning in front of him. 

“Now, don’t go telling your mum, alright?” 

“I won’t, I won’t,” the little girl whisper-yells, happily taking the cookie from Louis’ fingers and holding it to her chest. “I pinky promise!” 

Louis grins and chuckles at her, then turns serious again. “You better eat that very quickly, okay? Someone’s gonna come looking for you soon I bet.” 

Nodding, the girl takes a large bite of the cookie and it crumbles all down the front of her dress and to the ground. Louis laughs again and helps wipe them off, then sits with her as she finishes eating. 

“Thank you, Mr. Louis,” she says when she’s finished, throwing her arms around his shoulders. 

Harry scowls as Louis hugs her back and pats her lightly on the shoulder. Somewhere behind him he can hear two adult voices yelling  _ Maisie! _

“Go on back to your parents now,” Louis tells her. “I’ll talk to you soon, alright?” 

Maisie grins and skips away, Harry watching as her mother scoops her up and sets her on her hip, totally unaware of the forbidden cookie incident despite the few crumbs still around her mouth. Harry contemplates what he would get out of telling them Louis gave it to her. 

His attention is brought back to the alley when he hears fumbling, rocks moving underneath feet and quiet huffs. When Harry looks again, Louis’ struggling to stand from where he’d been crouching. 

He loses his grip on the flat brick wall he’s using to try to grab onto, his leg bending out in front of him. Louis winces and a small noise escapes his lips. After a moment he just gives up, crumpling to the ground into a sit. He leans his head back and sighs, massaging the back of his leg with a light hiss. 

Harry’s already debating if he should just go help him when Louis plants his palms on the gravel and scoots himself sideways until he can reach the big garbage bin. He grabs onto the side handles and takes a deep breath, then hauls himself up into a shaky stand. 

What’s so wrong with that side of his body? Harry wonders. Louis puts a hand on his back and rubs it for a moment and Harry only grows more confused by the second. 

From the way he’s moving it’s clear something’s the matter with it - either a lower back injury or a hip problem, or maybe a slipped disc. Harry even wonders for a moment if he’s been shot or something. None of this bodes well for him in regards to Harry wondering where he came from and why he’s here. 

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he turns once Louis’ standing on his own again and leaves him in the alley. The crowd from before has thinned out much more by now, and Harry nods at the few who remain visiting out front. 

All the way to his car he pouts. This time it’s him who kicks the rocks out of his path, plopping dejectedly into the front seat behind the wheel. He doesn’t think he can arrest someone for buying a cookie, but  _ damn _ he wishes he could. 

+

The grocery store is one of Harry’s most favorite places. The people all say hello when he comes in, the staff are all friendly, and there’s always free samples somewhere in the store. 

He goes early every Saturday morning to stock up for the week. At this point it’s become some sort of ritual, and it’s nice to have a bit of calmness and time to himself before the day really begins. The empty aisles, friendly faces, and bite-sized treats are somehow always exactly what he needs. 

It’s a bit chilly when he steps outside today to head over there, the morning air shedding the last remnants of sleep from his mind. Harry bundles his hands into his coat and hurries across the parking lot to get inside. 

His list is short like it always is, crumpled up in his pocket. Eggs, milk, and sausage are his main requirements, things that are easy to make or that he can reheat for leftovers. Maybe some bacon or dog food for Boy as well. Then he also usually peruses the fruits, stocking up on bananas and apples and whatever else happens to catch his eye. 

Rarely he makes some nicer dishes, and this week he decides is going to be one of those times. He’s already excited when he pictures the beef stroganoff he wants to make himself on Friday evening. As a treat, he decides. 

So he finishes up placing the fruit in his basket and heads over to the pasta aisle, mentally checking things off his list as he goes. The hand-held basket is already mostly filled, heavy on his forearm, and he can’t wait to restock the bare cupboard and fridge at the house. 

He turns down the aisle and faces the boxes of pasta to go underneath the beef, eyeing all of the different assortments to choose from. Pursing his lips, Harry grabs one that looks appetizing and then turns so he can get the sauce to go with it as well. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” 

Before he can, he ends up running straight into someone’s side just as they’re turning in. Harry starts to apologize as well, then looks up and sees who it is. 

Louis’ standing there, two different kinds of tomato sauce in his hands, his cheeks much the same color. He clears his throat and continues to mutter his sorries, setting the jars back onto the shelf. 

“I’m so sorry, I was just getting the sauce for my spaghetti,” he explains. 

“S’fine,” Harry mutters, ignoring him in favor of eyeing the sauces. He finds his fairly quickly and stuffs it into the carrier on his arm. 

It’s awkward for a moment because Louis’ still staring at him a bit and his basket is blocking Harry’s only way out of the aisle since the other is a dead end. Harry’s about to ask him not-so-politely to get out of the way when he speaks again. 

“Do you have any recommendations for which one I should get?” Louis asks, a hopeful brow raised in his direction. 

Sighing, Harry glances over and scans all of the options. To him, pasta sauce is pasta sauce. Most of them taste the same anyway and any of them would get the job done. But he recognizes one of the bottles from when he’d had dinner at Marguerites and he leans down to pick it out for him, handing it over. 

“This is the one Margeurite uses,” he mutters. 

“Great, thank you!” Louis smiles and sets the glass bottle into his basket. “I’m trying to cook for myself some but I’ve never been very good at it,” he chuckles, glancing down at his hands. “Accidentally set the fire alarm off a few times before.” 

“I figured you just took food from the bar,” Harry says. 

A pause. “Excuse me?” 

In a moment, Louis’ face goes from friendly to defensive, his brows drawn together and his head tilted sideways. Harry’s head swings back up to meet his eyes. 

“I said I figured you just ate food from the bar. Didn’t think you had anywhere to cook upstairs.” 

Harry’s been up there before. He knows there’s no fridge because there isn’t anywhere to put one anyway, not between the shelves and the excess furniture. Marguerite may have cleaned it up, but all that’s really able to fit in there is somewhere to sleep. A couch, maybe, if he’s lucky. 

“I do use one of the fridges downstairs but I don’t steal food. I make enough to buy my own and it’s all separate,” Louis says firmly. “I would never do that to anyone, but especially not to Marguerite.” 

The tense atmosphere persists as Harry debates whether or not he can physically jump over the cart because Louis just  _ won’t move, _ and he knows if he stays here any longer he’s bound to say something that isn’t very nice. 

“I’m not sure exactly what made you think that,” Louis adds slowly, his hands adjusting their grip on the cart handle. 

“Oh, nothing,” Harry hums. 

“Really?” 

If he wants to push, Harry will push back. 

He pulls his own arm basket higher and shoves the basket out of the way with his other hand, finally moving past him and out into the rest of the store again. Before he walks away, he leans in one last time so Louis can hear him clearly. 

“Let’s just say that I have a really good sixth sense, and I’m rarely ever wrong.” Harry drinks in the way his frown and the offended twitch of his nose, then stands straight again and faces the exit without looking back. “Have a good rest of your day, Louis.” 

He can feel the stare as he checks out and leaves, the grocery store beginning to fill up with other early risers. Louis may have everyone else in this damn town fooled, but not Harry. Never Harry. 

+

Things go quiet for a bit. Normal, almost, but not quite. 

Louis is still very much here, nearly a good month or more having passed since his mysterious arrival. Harry’s stopped counting the days. 

Instead he passes the time focusing on all the other aspects of his job, checking up on people and making sure everything around Aimsley’s still running as smoothly as possible minus the small disruption. The days are long but he never really minds it, enjoys seeing friends and people he’s known for many years now. The familiarity is always nice, especially now. 

Besides the grocery store (which has now also been tainted), Harry just loves to be at home. He’s got everything he could ever need, and he’d built all of it with his own two hands. 

Once upon a time, he’d grown up in the city. Harry used to follow his parents around eagerly as they traveled for business and rode in the expensive parts of airplanes, dressed to the nines in the latest fashion and jewelry that costs more than several month’s rent in downtown Aimsley. 

And then life happened and Harry realized that that wasn’t who he wanted to be after all. Slowly he crafted a dream of early mornings and early nights by the fireplace, a life with a routine and familiarity instead of the unpredictable fast pace he’d grown up with. He’d craved someone to share it all with too, but the sheriff job takes up a lot of his time anyway. It’d be too difficult to carve out a spot in his treasured routines for someone else, he figures, even if having the company might be nice. But he doesn’t even think about that all that much anymore, really. 

When he left the city he’d impulsively decided to just drive until the car stopped, which is exactly what landed him here. Aimsely used to be a mess, full of crime and trash and old, run down buildings, and Harry’s the reason a lot of it’s still standing today. 

The floorplan is one he’d designed as his dream house since he was much younger. He’d gotten an apartment and worked at Marguerite's for several years while he attended school, then once he’d graduated and gotten the law enforcement job, he got serious about the house. 

Another few years went into that while he kept saving his money. Harry drew up the plans and bought all of the materials and spent countless nights in the back alley behind his flat sawing the wood and crafting things to go on the inside of the place. 

Then, when he felt like he was ready, he bought the land too. His excitement spurred him on and he had nearly the entire thing built within the six months that came afterward on the plot down on a country road, with leaning trees all down the drive. 

Boy, his german shepherd and lifelong friend, had been homeless at the time, and just a puppy. After asking everyone around town, no one knew where he came from. The dog would show up every early morning when Harry did and lay next to him while he worked until he left each night. Eventually he just became part of the family, and Boy seems to love the house just as much as he does - the only true home either of them have ever known. 

It’s been a long time now and nothing’s changed. Harry still loves the house as much as he had then - the big stone fireplace he sits by at night, the worn wooden floors that have marks from where he’d dropped something or scuffed the planks with his shoes. The staircase seems grand even though he remembers manually nailing in every single piece on his knees. Every detail from the ceiling pattern to the curtains in his bedroom has been thoroughly thought out and chosen. After lots of hard work and labor, it’s completely perfect.

The house is big though, and sometimes Harry gets lost in the hallways, glancing down toward the empty guest room he doesn’t even really know why he built in the first place. Most days he fills it up with his routines, but sometimes it just feels the slightest bit empty even echoing with Boy’s loud snores. 

Grabbing the patrol car keys from the wicker basket beside the front entrance, Harry pets Boy behind the ears and gets ready for his daily route through town. He rarely finds anything worth noting but sometimes it’s just nice to drive around for a bit. 

Today the sky isn’t quite as blue as it usually is, and there are dark storm clouds swirling above him. He’d known it was supposed to rain tonight but he hadn’t thought it would come until later on. 

With that in mind he plans to make this a quick one, the headlights blinking on just as the first few drops begin to come down, misting his windshield and the hood of the car. Harry backs out of the drive and heads for town before it gets too bad. 

Those dark storm clouds begin to close in despite the fact that it’s only half past three in the afternoon, covering up the sun with their gloomy presence. It’s the perfect weather to settle into one of the two rocking chairs on his back porch and listen to the sound of nature, he thinks. 

But first he’s got to finish his patrolling. Harry turns down the main road and heads for downtown, keeping an eye out for anything out of the ordinary. 

The fruit stand has already been packed up for the day, the wooden shutters closed to protect the produce and other goods from the rain. Further down, the small coffee shop and barber are clearing out, customers running to their cars with purses and umbrellas covering their heads. 

Just as he’s about to turn back and head home, he passes by Marguerite’s and squints, slamming on the breaks. 

Louis’ standing there in a t-shirt and what seems to be his only pair of jeans, arms around himself and shivering from the cold. 

_ What the hell is he doing? _ Harry thinks. 

He sighs and makes a -  _ legal _ \- u-turn, pulling into one of the front parking spots just as the road clears out completely behind him. Grabbing the umbrella from his backseat, Harry huffs and throws open the door, quickly extending it and rushing to the front of the bar. 

The awning above the entrance has been there since the building was built and it’s thin, fluttering with the wind, raindrops seeping through the many tears in the fabric. Harry doesn’t like Louis, but if he catches a cold for whatever reason he’s standing out in the rain, Harry’ll never hear the end of it from Marguerite. 

“What the hell’re you doin’?” Harry yells over the sound of steady rain, moving to stand next to Louis so the umbrella covers them both. 

“You don’t have to wait with me,” is all he says, seeming annoyed but grateful as he leans under it. 

“That ain’t what I asked.” 

Louis’ chest rises and falls dramatically on a sigh and he side-eyes Harry as if determining whether or not he’s finished completely ignoring him. In Harry’s humble opinion, he should be pretty thankful. His hair’s soaked, stuck to his forehead at this point, and he’s shivering so much that he stutters a bit when he talks. Harry hesitates on giving him his jacket, then remembers it’s on the back of his dining room chair at the house anyway. He scoots a bit closer in compensation. 

“I got locked out,” Louis mumbles. 

“You live here,” Harry drawls. “You don’t have a key? Some other way to get in?” 

“If I had a key I wouldn’t be standing here,” he grits slowly. “I’m serious, sheriff, I’m fine.” 

Ignoring him, Harry glances out at the empty street in front of them and tries to think of something to say. “Did you call Marguerite?” 

Louis nods. “She’s on her way now.” 

“That’s good,” he returns. 

He’s a bit angry at having to waste his time here, getting his uniform all wet when he could be headed back home, but he figures he should make the most of the situation while he can. Clearing his throat, Harry makes sure Louis can hear him over the rain when he speaks. 

“You know, there’s a town a bit south of here that just built some real nice apartments,” Harry mentions conversationally. “Got a pool and everything.” 

Kissing his teeth, Louis re-crosses his arms and huffs a laugh, shaking his head. Perhaps Harry hadn’t been as subtle as he thought. 

“I could put in a good word to the landlord if you wanted, tell ‘im that-” 

“Can you just stop it?” Louis groans, flicking strands of wet hair off of his forehead. “I know you want me out of here but,  _ fuck, _ have I not done a good enough job at avoiding you already? I’m not the one that keeps seeking  _ you _ out, yeah?” 

Sensing the time for conversation has ended, Harry rolls his lips together and stays silent. He readjusts his grip on the handle of the umbrella and fights the urge to just get back in his car and go home where it’s safe and warm and where Louis  _ isn’t. _

Harry’s never heard him raise his voice before. Louis’ typically very soft spoken and usually has a smile on his face, but he supposes the bad weather has reduced him to only truths. That’s fine, Harry reasons, maybe now he’ll finally get him to admit the reason he came here in the first place. 

Tense air surrounds them for a few moments and Harry forces himself to wait it out as Louis scoffs and shifts around, as if debating himself where he would go if he could leave right now. He hopes Marguerite shows up soon. Really soon. 

“This was supposed to be a new start for me,” Louis grits a few seconds later, much quieter than he’d been before. 

“And you came  _ here _ ? You could’ve chosen anywhere.” 

“Some of us don’t have the money to go just  _ anywhere, _ sheriff.” 

Alright, well, he’s got a point. But Harry’s argument still stands. Out of everywhere in the world, he’d picked the middle of nowhere. Harry knows a place like this isn’t everyone’s dream. 

“Okay, but seriously - there are other cheap places to go. Aimsley ain’t a paradise,” he stresses. “This ain’t the place for vacation, this is where you go to disappear.” 

“Did it ever occur to you that maybe that’s what I want?” Louis breathes. 

At that, Harry pauses. No, it hadn’t ever really occurred to him before. Everyone in Aimsley was either born here or stuck here for as far back as Harry can remember. He takes pride in knowing the town backwards and forwards, and maybe in his haste to scope out the intruder he’d failed to recognize that he belongs here just as much as the rest of them do. 

Louis shivers next to him and clenches his jaw down at the concrete, raindrops clinging to his bottom lip that threaten to fall. He’s calmer. 

“Look, I know you don’t like me and I still don’t really understand why but - whatever,” Louis shakes his head. “I promise you I don’t mean any harm. I just want to - can you just - just-” as he breaks off his sentence, Harry watches as Louis struggles to come up with what he wants. 

Slowly his gaze flickers up to Harry’s face and he blinks, eyelashes wet, mouth the slightest bit open as he stares. Harry’s hand twitches as if to wipe the moisture from his cheeks but he refrains, making a fist by his own waist in restraint. 

Completely soaked and exhausted, Louis appears in his eyes like a vision. Harry wonders what he’d been missing before when he notices the way the raindrops bring out the blue in his eyes, the ever present wrinkle of his forehead that he suddenly aches to soothe. 

_ Just what?  _ he almost says. 

Marguerite’s headlights nearly blind them as she swerves into the gravel parking lot and throws herself out of the car, slamming the door and running up to them with her keys in her hand. 

“Damn, it’s comin’ down hard,” she huffs, jamming it into the keyhole to finally get them inside. 

“Yeah, a bit,” Harry says blankly. 

She manages to get it open and rushes inside herself before holding it open for him, and Harry leans close to it while he lets Louis go first. He closes the umbrella and shakes it off outside, setting it right on the inside wall for when they leave. 

“Hush,” she shushes Harry’s sarcasm harshly, then turns to Louis, “Oh, sweetheart, you’re shivering. C’mere,” she reaches out and wraps an arm around him, leading him to the back room presumably to dry off. 

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Harry decides he’s just going to have to let the whole thing go. Louis’ obviously not stealing anything or hurting anyone, and lately Harry’s sleuthing is getting both of them into more trouble than it’s worth. 

He accepts the towel Marguerite tosses at him from behind the bar and rolls his eyes at her fawning over Louis, helping him dry off and get to the stairs with a hand on his arm. 

Harry waits until Louis’ out of sight and until the upstairs door shuts before he clears his throat, toweling off his face and stepping closer to Marguerite. He nods in that direction and speaks softly. 

“You really think he’s alright?” Harry murmurs. 

He knows Marguerite understands what he means - what he’s asking. Not if Louis’ okay from the rain but if he’s alright in general, if he’s good enough for Sunshine county, for Aimsley. For everyone inside of it. 

She sighs quietly and places both hands on the bar, leaning forward to catch his eye. 

“We’ve all got a history, sheriff. You and I know just how much good can come from bad,” she says. “You’ve just gotta have some trust.” 

Harry’s too worn out at this point from the rain and the interaction with Louis to determine whether that was profound wisdom or absolute bullshit, so he just nods at her and averts his gaze. 

“Well, I’ll see you,” he says. “I’m gonna head home and get out of the storm. You want me to lead you out? Make sure you get home safe?” 

“Nope, you go on, sheriff. I’m gonna stay up here for a bit and take care of some work and I’ll leave once it clears up.” 

Nodding at her, Harry bids her one last goodbye and sticks the umbrella out of the door again, opening it for the quick run back to the patrol car. Once he’s inside he shuts it again, tosses it toward the back seat, and shuts his eyes, leaning his head back against the seat. 

Bittersweet closure floods his veins. He hadn’t wanted to give up but he supposes he’s got to cut his losses at some point. He’s got to face the facts - and the fact is that Louis seems to be a good person, regardless of Harry’s useless theories. 

He leaves the radio off the entire way back to the house, parking on top of the indents in the gravel from his tires. Then he heads inside and sets his keys in the bowl with a familiar clang, sliding his shoes off in their spot right next to the chip in the wallpaper near the floor. Harry changes into the same pajamas he wears each night and pours himself a glass of tea to take outside with him. 

He sits in his rocking chair and doesn’t spare a glance for the empty one beside him. The smell of the fresh rain and cool wind only lasts for a minute or so before it lessens, then disappears altogether. Before long he’s just staring out at a blue sky again, the clouds no longer a murky grey but stark white against their blue canvas. The sun peaks around the corner of one of them, casting a barely-there glow over his backyard despite having been in the throes of an awful storm just minutes prior. 

Huh. 

+

“Don’t’ya think the weenies should go here instead?”

“Excuse me?” 

“The weenies - they should go here on the end of the table so it’s the first thing people get, yeah?” 

Harry shuts his mouth and sighs, adjusting the heavy container of lemonade on his chest. Struggling to see around it, he rolls his eyes at Marguerite and sets the giant thing down onto the white folding table. The checkered red and white cover flies up with the wind and Harry pleads with it to go down into place as he adjusts the lemonade. 

“First of all, the  _ buns _ should go first so that people actually have somewhere to put the hot dog,” Harry tells her, switching them around. “Second of all, if you call ‘em weenies one more time I’m afraid I’ll have to kick’ya out of your own barbecue.” 

Marguerite snorts. “That’s fine, I’d much rather be inside workin’ than pretending I care about all this gossip - just a bunch of cluckin’ chickens,” she grumbles. 

“I think it’s gonna be fun,” Harry argues. 

“I planned it, sheriff,” she deadpans, rotating the plate of buns until it’s just right, “of course it’ll be fun.” 

Smiling to himself, Harry turns to finish setting out the rest of the food before the lot fills up with people. 

The community barbecue usually happens once per summer, and it’s always a big hit (even bigger than the bake sale, usually). The doors to the bar are wide open as people come in and out from the grill out back and the kitchen, piling more meat and sides onto the platter. 

“Okay, I’ve got the mac n’ cheese and the green beans,” Louis appears behind them, two large containers balanced in each of his oven-mitted hands. He smiles at Marguerite as she takes the food from him and then promptly turns to go back inside without another word. 

He’s been cold since the whole supermarket incident, but even more so after Harry tried to suggest that he move somewhere else when they’d been stuck outside of Marguerite's. He may not be trying to catch him for anything anymore, but that doesn’t mean his interest is any less piqued. He runs his eyes over Louis as he goes back inside the building. 

“Earth to sheriff,” Marguerite waves a hand in front of his face, “where would you like the sides, if you’re gonna be such a brat about the weenies.” 

“ _ Hot dogs, _ ” Harry groans. “Just hand over the sides.” 

Just as he finishes arranging the last of the other food, everyone begins flooding the lot. The bar’s open for drinks and the homemade desserts are on a table adjacent, and the liter-sized sodas are arranged neatly next to the ice chest and the solo cups. Harry stands back to admire his work as people line up to start making their plates. 

He makes his rounds until nearly everyone’s gotten a chance to go through the line like he usually does, shaking hands and chatting with several groups that have gathered in different spots out front. As he turns, he catches sight of Louis struggling to carry two full plates and drinks back to where he’d been sitting, one for him and one for Marguerite who’s lounging in a foldable chair in the shade. 

Only when Louis’ standing back over next to her does Harry move toward the food to make his own plate. 

It seems like a good turnout, already nearly an hour into the party by the time he’s socialized. The temperature is hot but not overly so, and Harry loosens the first button of his collar as he picks up a plate. 

Hot dogs are a crowd favorite and rightfully so, because Robert makes them, and  _ everyone _ knows Robert’s the best griller in town. Harry’s mouth waters as he squirts ketchup and mustard over the top of it, then piles on some mac n’ cheese and green beans on the side. 

He’s sprinkling cheese over the hot dog and trying not to salivate when the sound of tires screeching reaches his ears, his hand freezing in the air. Glancing over his shoulder, Harry’s eyes narrow in on the beat up Toyota swerving into the lot - one Harry doesn’t know. 

Everyone seems to quiet just a bit at the intrusion. The faint music from someone’s radio plays as the door to the car swings open forcefully, beat up tennis shoes landing on the gravel. The door slams again and a man steps out, light wash jeans low with holes in the knees and a haphazardly stained wife beater across his chest. 

“Louis,” the guy yells. 

Brows furrowing, Harry throws his plate down and makes sure his gun is still on his hip, subtly stepping forward to see what’s going to happen. 

Eyes trailing further for a split second, Harry’s far away but he can still see the genuine fear that fills Louis’ body, the way his trembling hands drop his paper plate and all of his food to the ground. He doesn’t move, almost like he’s in shock, while everyone watches the interaction. 

“Get in the car, we’re going home,” the man says. 

Harry steps forward again, just enough to catch the guy’s eye and he falters, eyeing Harry’s badge and uniform with a narrowed gaze. Louis’ gone sheet-white at this point, looking fragile as he stands small next to Marguerite. 

“Can I help you with somethin’?” Harry asks him slowly. 

“Just collecting a few things and I’ll be out of your hair,” he mutters, his eyes still focused ahead. “Louis, get in the car.” 

As if to form a protective barrier around him, people begin to step forward and close in, slowly blocking Louis from his path. This seems to make the man even angrier, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. Harry watches him very closely. 

“What, did you think I wasn’t going to find you?” he scoffs, laughing. From the way he sways on his feet Harry estimates he’s been drinking on the way here. He grimaces.  _ Who the hell is this guy? _ “Did you think you could just run away and it would fix everything?” 

Harry’s too worried about what this guy wants to spare another glance in Louis’ direction, but he’s definitely confused. Is this Louis’ family? A boyfriend? A _husband?_ _Just how much has he not told them about himself?_ Harry thinks. 

Enraged by the fact that Louis isn’t gracing him with an answer, the man starts toward him determinedly, spitting and slurring when he speaks. “Get your ass in the damn car. We’re going  _ home. _ ” 

“No,” Louis says quietly, just barely echoing over to where Harry can hear it. Everyone seems to brace themselves. “I - I’m staying here.” 

At this point the man’s face has flooded red with his anger, and he shakes his head, mutters something underneath his breath, and then stumbles as he moves toward them like he’s made up his mind about something. 

Just barely in the fading afternoon sun, Harry can make out the outline of something in his pocket as he moves. 

A gun. 

Without thinking he’s darting out into the open circle that’s formed around the stranger, tackling him to the ground with a leg thrown over either side of him to keep him down. Reaching to the side, Harry maneuvers them until he can pull it out from his waist, then makes sure the safety is on and tosses the gun a safe distance away from them. Several gasps sound out in the crowd. 

Jaw clenched, Harry fixes him with a steely gaze and doesn’t bother mincing his words. He grabs the front of his shirt and yanks it until he can see his face, leaning down to speak directly to the man. 

“You come back here again I’ll shoot you,” Harry growls. “This is private property. Am I clear?” 

“Get the fuck off’a me,” the guy grunts drunkenly, trying to kick him off. 

Harry overpowers him easily and keeps him pinned to the ground, tightening his hold until he’s certain it’s painful. The heavy scent of liquor comes off of him in waves and Harry’s stomach rolls. 

“I  _ said, _ am I clear?” he reiterates. 

“Yeah, fuck, whatever,” the guy hisses, still squirming around. “ _ Clear, _ you dipshit. Let me  _ go. _ ” 

“Get outta my sight,” Harry mutters, hauling him up with a hand fisted in his shirt and practically throwing him in the direction of his car. 

Twice he stumbles, glancing behind him to catch Louis’ eye once more. Harry narrows his own gaze and looks between them, a prominent crease in his brow. His hands twitch as the tail lights flicker on and the dust flies, the car speeding back off down the road. 

Everyone around them scatters to their own cars, disappearing in a bright jumble of tail lights as the gravel flies from underneath their tires. Harry’s blood boils with how angry he is, with how dangerous that could have been. He picks up the discarded gun and sticks it into his belt to take back to the station. 

“I told you he was no good,” Harry raises his voice, accent thick and heavy with his anger as he stalks toward Louis and Marguerite. “Do you know how many people could have gotten hurt tonight?” 

“It ain’t Louis’ fault he came up in here-” she argues. 

“Oh, it ain’t? If I’m not mistaken he wouldn’t have been here at  _ all _ if not for him,” Harry jabs a thumb toward Louis. 

“Look, sheriff, it’s taken care of. I’ll take Louis back and you can make sure everyone gets home safely.” 

“Like hell,” Harry growls. “He’s coming with me to the station.” 

“He ain’t-” 

“Don’t test me, woman,” Harry mutters lowly, his eye twitching with how angry he is. Marguerite’s always been like a second mother to him but he won’t put up with her testament to Louis’ good nature when he’s gone and nearly put half their population in grave danger. 

Minutes pass as she glares him down with her hands on her hips, but eventually she huffs and walks over to Louis, helping him stand before saying her goodbyes. Tossing Harry one last warning look, she smiles softly in Louis’ direction and then leaves with everyone else, silence ringing out through the empty parking lot that’d been bustling with music and people just minutes ago. 

“C’mon,” Harry grits. 

Without a word Louis follows him out to the car, opening his own door to slide into the passenger seat. Harry bites his tongue trying not to tell him to get in the back instead. 

The drive to the station doesn’t take long, but it’s enough time for Harry’s anger to simmer and radiate, his knuckles gripping the steering wheel so hard that his hands ache. He refuses to look in Louis’ direction because it’ll only rile him up more, he’s sure. 

All this time they’ve made fun of him for being so protective of this town, but don’t they see what happens when they just let someone in like this? Louis snuck in right underneath their noses and no one even questioned him. How dare he disrupt their little corner of the world, their home? He had no right to then, and he certainly doesn’t now. Harry’s not going to let him just get away with it. 

“Get out,” Harry bites at him, throwing open his own door and stomping up to the station. 

He wastes no time checking to make sure Louis’ following him before he unlocks the entrance and stalks toward his office, flipping on the lights and locking the door. Like an interrogation, he nudges Louis harshly toward the lone wooden chair to have a seat, then rounds to the other side of his desk to stare him down. 

“Who was he,” Harry demands. 

“I - I,” Louis fumbles and chokes, frantically wiping tears from his eyes. 

“Spit it out, damnit,” Harry growls, slamming a fist down on the table. “And don’t you dare tell me you don’t know.” 

At the harsh tone, Louis only breaks down harder. He struggles to keep himself quiet, constantly wiping his cheeks with the back of his hand and his sleeve, trying to catch his breath long enough to get some words out. 

Harry tries to be patient. After more than five minutes they’ve both calmed some, but he still isn’t letting Louis off the hook this easily. 

“You put my town in danger,” Harry mutters. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t ship you the hell out of here right now.” 

“Please, no - I don’t have anywhere else to go,” Louis whimpers, lip swollen and fat tears rushing down his cheeks, rolling over his neck and soaking into the collar of his shirt. “I need my job, I - I need my apartment,” he stutters. 

To be frank, right at this second, Harry really doesn’t give a damn if he has somewhere else to go or not. If Louis leaves, the danger is eliminated. It seems fairly simple to him. If Louis’ looking for Marguerite's kind of sympathy, he sure as hell isn’t going to find it here. What little he does have is running out  _ very _ quickly. 

He stands straight and crosses his arms over his chest, chin down as he offers Louis an ultimatum. 

“You have one last chance to tell me, Louis, or you can kiss your pretty little  _ ‘new beginning’ _ goodbye.” 

Louis only manages to keep quiet long enough to get out the words before he’s sobbing all over again: 

“He’s my ex.” 

+

Brett Lincoln is anything but a gentleman. He’s got a long history of theft and several different kinds of violence, not to mention some hefty purchases with stolen credit cards over the years. He’s been in and out of rehab for drug and alcohol addiction, and the shiny new domestic abuse lawsuit from only last year seems to be the latest incident on the long list. 

He’s trouble, is what he is, and Louis’ gone and lured him right into their laps. 

After he drew the confession out of him, Louis disappeared into a puddle of tears and sniffles once again, so Harry called Marguerite and sent him home. The rest he was able to find out by a simple search through the system, all of his records popping up on the screen and the fingerprint scan doubling the results. 

Apparently, everything checks out. Brett lives at the old address Louis managed to articulate through his upset, a house just on the outside of the outskirts of a suburb in northern California. That’s both a good and bad thing, Harry supposes. 

On one hand they know where he lives - on the other, Louis must mean a hell of a lot to him to have found him all the way out here. 

Sighing, Harry plants his head in his hands again and sighs. He can’t think about it again or he’ll get angry just like he’d been last night. The coffee he drank this morning hadn’t helped cure the headache from his all-nighter, hours searching the system until day broke. 

The one and only thing that’s managed to crack his harsh resolve is the lawsuit. He isn’t the biggest fan of Louis, especially not after last night, but no one deserves to be treated so violently in their own home. Harry’s stomach sours at the details of the case. They refer to the other party anonymously as nothing more than ‘the victim’, but Harry doesn’t need too many other details to put the puzzle pieces together in his head, the timeline perfectly adding up. 

Harry doesn’t like Louis, but he’d never wish that kind of life on anyone. 

His mind already made up, Harry huffs as he locks his office back up again and slips into the patrol car, headed straight for Marguerite's. The bar isn’t open yet but her car is there next to Louis’ when Harry pulls up, so he knows they’re here. 

He knocks on the glass until she comes to unlock it for him. 

“Sheriff Styles,” she greets formally. 

“Marguerite,” he returns. “You doin’ alright?” 

“I am,” she nods, her expression grim. “I’m just glad everyone’s okay.” 

Forcing himself to be polite, Harry continues. “And Louis?” 

“He’s upstairs. I told him he could have the night off to rest,” she says. 

“I need to speak with him again,” he tells her, following her footsteps to the back of the bar. 

“I suppose I can’t stop you,” she sighs. “Just - be gentle, will you?” 

Nodding silently, Harry lets himself through the back door of the bar and hads up the narrow staircase, dodging several spiderwebs in his path. When he inhales, both of his arms touch the wall on either side. It isn’t ideal, he muses flatly. 

Lifting a hand, he knocks several times on Louis’ door until he opens up. When he does, Louis’ face goes from neutral to shocked to slightly less shocked, straining his neck to look up at Harry. 

He looks like he’s just woken up, tired eyes and a coffee cup in his hand, a soft t-shirt thrown over some sweatpants with a hole ripped at the knee. 

“Harry,” he starts. “Can I get you some coffee? I just made some fresh.” 

“I’m gonna help you,” Harry tells him plainly, stepping forward out of the doorway. “I’ll monitor who comes in and out of town and I’ll make sure you’ve got security here and down at the bar. He won’t be able to come back here again.” 

“Thank you, Harry,” Louis sighs, “I-” 

“On one condition,” Harry stipulates. 

Catching himself, Louis nods quickly and opens the door further, inviting him fully inside and shutting the door behind them. He wipes a nervous hand on the material of his sweatpants. Harry takes the moment to take in the apartment. 

It’s dark, he notices first, with only one lamp on in the corner. Harry wonders if Louis has a headache or if it’s just the only light bulb that still works. Probably both, he figures. There’s a single counter in the corner, a microwave propped on it awkwardly. Through the door off one side Harry remembers a small bathroom with a single shower and a toilet, but not much else has changed up here. The only other piece of furniture besides the kitchen objects is a ratty couch, a pillow and throw blanket laid out across it. 

“What’s your condition?” Louis asks, jarring him from his analysis of the place. 

“This could’ve been prevented if I’d known it was something to look out for. If there’s anything else that you’re not telling me that could cause a problem for us later, I’m gonna need to know it. Everything you can tell me.” 

Like he’d known it was coming, Louis dips his chin to his chest and nods once in response to his requirements. Harry still doesn’t feel guilty - this arrangement benefits Louis in every way and lands ten times more work in Harry’s lap down at the station. 

“We should probably, uhm,” Louis gestures to the small folding table next to the door, a chair on either side. 

Harry struggles to fit his legs underneath it but sits nonetheless, as Louis scoots under it with ease, clutching his cup of coffee nervously. Brows creased, Harry leans in and waits for wherever he’s going to start. 

“There isn’t much I didn’t tell you last night,” Louis murmurs softly around his lower lip. “He doesn’t have a job or any friends really. He only has one gun as far as I know, which you confiscated last night.” 

“Does he still go to rehab?” Harry doesn’t waste any time diving into his questions. 

“Not anymore. He went for a few months when I drove him but then when I got a job he stopped going,” he says. 

“How long were you together?” 

“Five years,” Louis whispers. 

_ Five years? _ Harry can’t come up with a reason he’d have stayed with someone for that long who was so obviously a bad guy. He has a feeling he’s going to be here for a while with Louis’ short, concise answers. 

“Is there any reason he would want to track you down so badly? Get you back to California?” Harry asks. 

“I - I don’t think so,” Louis frowns. “That’s why I was so surprised to see him. I mean, I was the only one who worked and he used that money for his drugs so I would assume that’s the reason. He probably owes a lot of people.” 

By the end of his sentence he’s so quiet that Harry has to lean in even further to hear him, the small table threatening to buckle with the weight of his elbows. Harry leans back again and tilts his head, trying to place the look in Louis’ eyes. 

“What can you tell me about the lawsuit,” he phrases carefully. Louis’ eyes snap up to his, shame and sadness and surprise swirling into his irises as his mouth drops open just a tiny bit. “I know that you probably don’t want to talk about it, but I need to know if there’s something that happened during that time I need to be aware of - if there’s any motive for him to target you specifically.” 

Louis gulps visibly. “I don’t think so,” he says. 

Harry’s going to have to bring it up, then. 

“So why didn’t you win the case? It was never settled.” 

Blinking hard, Louis licks over his lips and takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling. “The night I left, I - it’s a long story.” 

“I’ve got time,” Harry counters. He tries to keep his expression kind but he’s never been very good at comforting sensitive people. 

With a final sigh, Louis slouches in his seat and sets the cup down, his expression sombering even further. 

“The night that I left, he came home drunk. He was, I mean - there’d been times when he would get, like, physical with me,” he whispers. “I was kind of used to that at this point but he was just so angry that day. I’d just lost my job for missing work too much because I couldn’t - well, sometimes I was too weak to make it across town because we didn’t have much money for food,” Louis explains. 

Harry’s heart does a small flip inside of his chest. He doesn’t really know what to feel at this point, but he can tell what’s coming. His lip twists downward as Louis continues with the story. 

“He was angry about that because he used that money from my job, like I said before, and he wouldn’t speak to me that entire weekend after I got fired. But anyway, that night he came home and just sort of came at me, tried to get his hands around my throat.” His voice shakes slightly the longer he talks. Harry aches to soothe him but he’s got no idea how. He’s never had to do that for anyone before, but if there’s anyone that needs it, it’s Louis. 

“I ran toward the stairs so I could get to the bedroom and lock the door, but he tripped me and I fell. One of the glass vases we had on the shelf broke and he dragged me through it. I’ve got a nasty cut up my back,” he sighs. “So when he let me go for a minute I ran to the bedroom and grabbed the baseball bat I kept for break-ins,” he inhales sharply, “and I hit him with it. I knocked him out.” 

Harry’s mind flashes back to the limp Louis’ had since he first arrived, much better now but still noticeable if he looks hard enough. He suddenly wishes he had a glass of water, feeling parched at the missing puzzle piece he’d filled in. 

“I took all of the money he’d stolen from me and took the car, booked a room at the motel across town. Then I started panicking about what I did and overthinking it and - I just couldn’t - I called the cops because I didn’t know what else to do,” Louis shrugs. “So I told them what happened and they asked me to come down to the station so they could question me and get a statement. They said I should file a suit if he’d been doing the things I said and I had no idea what that meant, but I did it. I showed up to court a few weeks later and it didn’t end very well, as you know.” 

Louis sighs openly again, playing with his fingers to get rid of the excess anxiousness Harry can tell he’s feeling right now. 

“It was the first time I’d seen him since I left. I could tell he wasn’t happy with me. When we finally got in front of the judge, I hadn’t thought about how it would look. The police statements didn’t even matter. All they could see was the bruise on his face from where I hit him, my confession, and the money I took from the house that was in his name, even though I was the one that worked for it and he was unemployed. Apparently to a judge that just seems like a bitter ex who’d been broken up with and wanted to make a scene,” he shrugs, a jerky and broken movement with glazed over eyes. 

“Surely you had evidence,” Harry murmurs, low and quiet. 

“None of it was visible. The scar from the glass went from the middle of my back down to my thigh and everything else was, uhm, in other areas or had already faded. I had the medical papers from when they stitched me up but no other hard evidence. They said I could show the court or I could walk out and drop the entire thing and they wouldn’t punish me for hitting him and taking the money.” 

“They can’t do that,” Harry interjects angrily, “they can’t ask you to do that in a federal court and they can’t settle it that way. It’s not allowed.” 

“I know,” Louis nods. “But at that point I just - I kind of gave up. I just wanted to get out and forget everything that happened.” 

“I don’t blame you.” 

As soon as the words leave Harry’s lips Louis seems surprised. He blushes at his own reaction and laces his fingers together on top of the table. 

“Anyway, I told them I’d drop it. The second I got out I packed up what I brought with me from the house and got the cheapest flight I could find. But he used to have my credit card number memorized so I’m sure that’s how he found me. That’s my mistake,” he nods. 

“You don’t use the card anymore?” Harry checks. 

“No, Marguerite pays me cash and I use that to pay for rent and groceries,” he explains. “I destroyed the card when I first got here, but I guess he just searched all the towns around the airport since he knows my car.” 

“It won’t happen again,” Harry says. “He won’t bother you anymore.” 

“Thank you, Harry,” Louis breathes again, just like he had earlier. 

Except right now Harry feels like he’s sitting across from a brand new person, not the same Louis he was so suspicious of before. At least now, both fortunately and unfortunately, all of his quirks make sense. Every reason Harry's been weary of him before are simply defense mechanisms that he’d picked up to protect himself. 

He stands from the small table and nearly hits his head on the low, slanted ceiling, scooting the chair back in as Louis stands as well. 

“Thank you for telling me,” Harry returns. 

Nodding at him, Louis pauses a moment then turns to the door. He only takes two steps to reach it and Harry makes it in one, hand on the door knob and still awkwardly hunched. 

He catches Louis’ eye half on accident and half on purpose in the tiny entrance, no more than a foot of space between them. 

“I’ll see you around,” Louis murmurs. 

“See you,” Harry nods, snapping himself out of it and turning the handle. He feels like he should say something else for everything Louis’ just laid bare for him to interpret, something to soothe his surely high nerves, but nothing comes to mind. He leaves silently. 

The stairs make him claustrophobic combined with the weight of everything he’s just heard, and he hurries back down and out to his car without saying any other goodbyes. When he’s behind the wheel again, he rests his forehead on his hands and sighs. 

Out with the old, in with the new, Harry supposes. Or, not  _ out _ with the old, just in with  _ some _ new. He can do this.  _ They _ can do this. 

It’s the little things. 

+

It doesn’t take all that much effort to locate Brett. Harry’s already been in contact with the authorities near his house in California and they’ve promised to let him know of any suspicious activity when they find it. He’s also got his plates and his credit card number and social because Brett’s surprisingly responsive to phony internet scams, apparently, so he’s pretty much covered on all fronts. 

Turns out the guy’s on house arrest right now anyway, and he’s in big trouble for breaking it. He won’t be leaving California for a while. 

Harry leans back in his desk chair and puts his hands behind his head, swiveling side to side. His eyes stray to the ceiling and then to the window, watching the mostly silent road outside. 

Nobody comes to Aimsley without a reason, but perhaps Louis had one after all. 

+

Now that he’s got reason to, Harry feels like he can drop some of the tough sheriff facade he’d been upholding in place. With the heady, detailed explanation, everything he’d once thought suspicious now just seems defensive and self-preserving, which are two things Harry can absolutely understand. He still wishes Louis would’ve told him a bit more upfront, but he supposes they can start fresh from here. 

He heads to the bar just after opening, when the sun is still high above his head and the heat beats down on the back of his uniform. Harry unbuttons the first few buttons to get some air, pushing through the entrance and into the air conditioning. 

There’s only one person in the room and the booming voice immediately catches him off guard as he goes to look for Louis. 

“Well, if it ain’t good ol’ Sheriff Styles!” 

“Afternoon, Paul,” Harry nods, smiling as politely as he can after being startled. 

“Haven’t seen ya in ages,” he stresses, “how you been?” 

“Just the usual. Makin’ the rounds, makin’ sure everyone’s doin’ alright.” 

Eyeing the rest of the area, Harry can see Louis coming back from the kitchen, pushing the swinging door open with his hip as he carries in some more boxes of napkins to keep up front. They must’ve had some spills again. 

Harry pays special attention to his bad side, his leg still working but at times dragging awkwardly behind him. 

Avoiding Paul who’s their cheerful but talkative neighborhood alcoholic, Harry ducks behind the bar to grab the box from him, letting Louis point where to set it out. He doesn’t at first, just stares at Harry all breathless and surprised, but eventually blushes and tells him he can set it behind the counter next to the display. 

“Thank you,” he tells him, then moving his eyes to Paul as he wipes his hands on his small black apron around his waist. “What can I get you today, Paul?” 

“There’s my Louis!” he cheers. Harry’s brows dip in and his polite smile fades into a frown. “I’ll just have my usual.” 

The reason Harry came here in the first place was to speak with Louis, and he’s never going to get to do that if the guy doesn’t leave them alone. Harry can tell he’s had a few already at home from the way he blinks slowly and slurs his speech, so he takes advantage and leans forward over the bar, tapping the wood to get his attention. 

“Paul,” he hums, “didn’t you have to go to the bathroom?” 

He starts to say no, and then pauses to consider Harry’s words, his entire leathery face wrinkling up as he thinks. Eventually he purses his lips and nods to himself, tripping a bit as he slides off of the stool. 

“You know what? I sure did, sheriff. Thanks for reminding me,” he trails off, headed the complete opposite direction of the restrooms. 

A startled laugh sounds behind him and Harry turns to face Louis again, who’s amused gaze finds Paul bump into a booth before he finally rounds into the back hallway, leaving them alone for the time being. 

“You do that often?” he jokes. 

“Only when it’s necessary,” Harry returns. “Where’s Marguerite?” 

“She took the night off. We haven’t been having much business on weeknights and she wasn’t feeling well so I told her I could handle it,” Louis explains, finishing up Paul’s regular and setting it out on the bar. 

“It is allergy season,” Harry reasons, leaning back against the other side of the bar with his arms crossed. “The ragweed is awful this time a’year. Probably sinus stuff.” 

“Probably,” Louis nods. 

It goes quiet for a moment as Louis goes bashful again, playing with his fingers and staring down at the floor instead of at Harry. At once he’s struck by the same confusion he’s had since all this happened just recently - Louis seems intelligent, he’s kind, and he’s level headed. Harry doesn’t understand how someone could sleep at night after taking advantage of him so badly. 

But he’s spent enough time worrying about Brett Lincoln and hopefully, they won’t have to worry about him anymore. Harry’s taking steps in the right direction. 

And the first one is in his pocket now. He slips the small device out and holds it in his hand, the distraction making Louis refocus on him. 

“What’s that?” he asks quietly, leaning forward to get a better look. 

“It’s a pager,” Harry explains. “You’ll keep it clipped to your trousers and if you ever feel unsafe or like you’re in danger, you press this button here,” he raises it to point to the button, “and it’ll send a message directly to me so I can come check it out. That way you won’t have to try to get to your phone and it’s all discreet.” 

Louis’ eyes are wider by the end of his explanation and Harry can’t say he entirely blames him. He probably hadn’t been all that convinced that Harry would make good on his deal based on the way he’s treated him before. 

“I - wow,” he breathes, reaching up to take the pager from Harry’s hand. “Thank you. I really appreciate this.” 

“You deserve to feel safe here,” is all he offers before Paul comes back from the restroom and Harry steps away again, interrupting the bubble they’d created. 

Harry tosses one last goodbye in Paul’s direction and heads for the exit. Before he goes, he stops at the door and calls for Louis one last time. 

“You tell Marguerite I hope she gets better soon, alright?” 

“Will do,” Louis nods, smiling. 

“Oh, and Paul?” Harry waits until he swings his head over to him, then tosses a wink in Louis’ direction. “Pretty sure they’re towing your car down there,” he nods down the street. 

“Damn, really?” he yells, much louder than necessary, and stands once again to stumble out the door. Harry holds it open for him on the way out and tries to hold his breath as he passes, the drink forgotten on the counter. 

“Are they really towing his car?” Louis stage-whispers. 

“Nope. They took away Paul’s license a few years back so he doesn’t have a car anymore,” Harry grins, sliding his sunglasses back on. “He’ll be out lookin’ for it for a few hours so…” 

Louis laughs again and shakes his head, then glances back up at him. “Thanks, Harry. For everything.” 

“S’no problem,” he says. “I’ll talk to you soon. Bye, Louis.” 

Raising a hand from behind the counter, Louis waves at him as he turns for the door again, then returns his smile shyly. 

“Bye, Harry.” 

Stepping back out into the sunshine, Harry squints at Paul who’s just made it down to the corner. Harry doesn’t feel too bad - Paul could really use the cardio. 

Harry doesn’t even realize until he gets back to the house after his routine that Louis’ dropped the formal title altogether, and is now calling him by his first name. Usually, that would make Harry’s blood boil, that he’s not treating him with respect. 

As it is, he can’t say he really minds. 

+

With many years of being a sheriff already under his belt, Harry likes to think he’s pretty good at knowing when things are about to happen. 

Richard’s dog usually escapes after storms so Harry makes sure to stop by beforehand and make sure the fence will hold up. He knows the blueberry pies usually run out  _ just _ before the evening rush at the bakery, so if he wants one that day, he’s got to go earlier. He’d been on Brett before he could even think about using his weapon. By now, he’s just got a sixth sense about these things. 

Before he’d have said that his confidence is well deserved - it’s that same sense that’s saved people from close calls and unfortunate accidents that could have been much worse than they were, and it’s the same sense he uses in his own life. Usually, it’s unfailing. 

So why the hell hadn’t it warned him about catching feelings for Louis Tomlinson? 

+

Harry’s been avoiding the grocery store at his usual time to avoid running into him, but he figures it’s no use now that they’re friendly. Especially not now that Harry’s got some kind of  _ crush _ on him. He feels pathetic. 

Pathetic as he spends a good twenty minutes deciding on an outfit when it usually takes him less than five, pathetic when he slides on his newest snakeskin boots and wastes another ten minutes fussing with his hair and mustache in the mirror. 

“Whadd’ya think, Boy?” he murmurs with his hands on his hips. 

Boy tilts his head from where he’s laying on the fluffy woven rug, whining in response to Harry’s question. Harry fixes his mustache one last time and shakes his head. 

Cursing at himself, he pulls away from his reflection, bids goodbye to Boy, and heads out the door, the sun just coming up on the far side of town. There isn’t even a guarantee Louis will  _ be _ there. 

It’s a short ride but it feels like it takes ages to get to the old store, and Harry’s never been happier to see that old pickup truck parked in the front row (now with a fully functioning taillight). He slams the car door a bit too hard, locks it, and heads inside before he can talk himself out of it. 

The rush of air conditioning that hits him as soon as he walks in the door is both refreshing and jarring, forgetting to even grab his own basket as he tucks his sunglasses onto the front of his shirt out of habit and begins perusing the aisles. 

It takes less than five minutes to find him in the small store, Louis’ hand on his hip as he gazes at the produce. Shaking his head at himself, Harry walks around the complete other way and makes a casual expression, walking by like he’d already been there. 

“Harry?” 

Glancing over his shoulder, Harry pauses and changes his direction to walk over to him. He’s just so  _ pathetic. _

“Morning, Louis,” he nods, moving to tip his hat but then realizing he doesn’t have one on, lowering his hand awkwardly back down to his side. 

If they were to switch places, Harry might’ve pointed out that he was awful to Louis last time they were here, that he jumped to conclusions and even somewhat threatened him a bit in hopes of scaring him off. But it hadn’t worked, and Louis doesn’t seem all that intimidated. 

“Good morning,” he grins. 

“How’s things at the bar?” Harry asks him, suddenly desperate for something to talk about before they pass each other. 

“Really good, I haven’t had to use the pager yet,” Louis holds it up from his pocket, then returns it securely. “Although I am a bit concerned about Paul, he never came back.” Louis laughs lightly and his gaze skips to the floor, his cheeks wide and eyes crinkled. Harry stares until he glances back up. 

“That’s good,” he says. 

“Is it? I’m not quite sure where he wandered off to,” Louis jokes. 

“No, I mean the, uh, that you haven’t had to use the pager,” Harry rushes, his face coloring a bit at his mistake. 

But Louis just smiles again and shakes his head. “I know what you meant, Harry.” 

Gulping, Harry clears his throat and looks down at his boots. He feels like an idiot. Here he is, all dressed and hoping to run into Louis, and he’s got no idea what to say. 

He watches as Louis grabs a box of cereal from the shelf and loads it into his cart amongst his other groceries. If he doesn’t hurry up and think of something Louis’ going to leave and all of this will have been for naught. Then he really  _ will _ be a fool. 

“Was the pasta good?” He blurts the first thing that comes to his mind, wincing when it comes out just a bit too loud for their quiet conversation. 

“I’m sorry?” Louis murmurs, his head tilted. 

“I - just - the pasta, when we were talking about which sauce to use,” Harry explains quickly. “You weren’t sure which one to get.” 

“Oh,” he beams, “yes! It was very good. I had leftovers for two days,” he grins. “Thanks for the recommendation.” 

“No problem,” Harry nods. 

“I wouldn’t mind a few more, actually, if you don’t mind,” Louis sucks his lower lip into his mouth, his hands twisting on the cart handle. “I’m still not the most familiar with what the best recipes are.” 

Alright, either Harry’s stupid or that was  _ definitely _ an invitation to spend more time together. Or, at the very least, subtle proof that Louis isn’t annoyed by his presence. He’ll take it. 

“Of course,” he breathes. “D’you have a list?” 

“Just a small one,” Louis hands it over. 

It’s a tiny, torn piece of paper with just a few things written on it, the eggs, milk, and cereal already crossed off of it. Harry maps out where the rest of the stuff is in his mind as well as a few things he thinks Louis would like as well. 

“Right this way,” he leads, turning on his heel and heading to the first item. 

Huffing a laugh, Louis follows behind him and Harry walks slow so that Louis’ bad leg won’t start acting up. For the next hour, Harry helps him pick out some easy meals and snacks to keep around the house (or attic) and even throws in a plush blanket near the checkout that Harry insists on buying as a welcome gift he never got to properly give. Louis was angry with him at first, but Harry saw the way he ran his fingers over the softness, his lips parting in awe. It was most definitely worth it. 

Harry leaves with no actual groceries for himself, but that’s okay. It’s more than okay actually, because he also heads home with a grin, Louis’ blush when Harry asked him to dinner still fresh in his mind. 

+

Never in his life has Harry been this consistently happy. 

Usually lots of things get on his nerves - if his coffee’s the slightest bit too cold or when he’s got to wrangle the cattle from where they’d managed to get a horn stuck. Today, he doesn’t think he could wipe the smile off of his face even if he tried. 

The sunflower festival is something Harry used to watch from the sidelines. He’d sit in the half banquet building half restaurant and watch the couples-only affair to make sure that everyone had a good time, trying not to let his own expression expose all that much of his sour attitude. Girls with frilly dresses would spin and twirl and guys in their nicest button ups and boots would dance them around the room with big grins all around. 

Everything’s always decorated brightly, yellow nearly everywhere he looks. Sunflowers are in vases on every table. Used to, Harry would sit there and wonder how he could possibly feel so down in the presence of such a happy color. 

This year, things are different. 

“Evening, Marguerite,” he greets, tipping his hat to her as he enters the bar. “You look lovely tonight.” 

They’ve only got a few more minutes to get over there, and Harry doesn’t want to be late. Even Marguerite's wearing her Sunday best, bright pearls on her chest and matching earrings to go with her yellow dress that she’s worn for yours. 

“I know I do,” she mutters, barely sparing him a glance as she fiddles with the cash register, locking it up before they leave. “I know you ain’t here for me, so I’m gonna head on over there. Your boy’ll be down in a minute.” 

Harry nods politely at her and lowers his flushed gaze at her comment. He steps to one side to allow her to get to the door, then stops when she tugs on his shoulder to get him to bend to her height. 

“You better tell him he looks good, alright? He’s been up there fussin’ with himself for two hours now.” 

“I will,” Harry assures her, “of course.” 

With a twitch of her lips, she bids him one last goodbye and heads out, calling to him to lock up when they leave as well. Harry adjusts his collar anxiously and sits down on the edge of one of the booths to wait for Louis to come down. 

It’s been nearly a month since Harry asked him to dinner. Days spent stopping by the bar to say hello during his breaks, early morning dates at the grocery store and whenever they both aren’t working. He’d only been the slightest bit bashful when Marguerite finally pointed it all out, when she’d teased them both endlessly about how obvious they were. 

It’s as if the empty part of his days is filled now. There’s no more inkling in the back of his mind that he’s forgetting something and he’s rarely bored anymore. Even when he sits by the fireplace at night he’s usually on the phone with Louis. 

As much as he’s been enjoying it, he hasn’t brought Louis to his house yet. As depressing as it sounds, no one’s ever been inside of it but Harry. No builders, no repairmen. It’s his, through and through, and as much as he’s been itching to share it with someone, it still just feels a bit too  _ raw. _

So they spend time elsewhere instead, at the park and in the booths of the bar late after closing, occasionally upstairs in the cramped little attic when they have to. They’re making it work. He thinks Louis’ caught on to the fact that he won’t invite him over, but right now he’s just hoping that’ll mean it’s all the more special when he does. 

The sound of a door shutting jars him from his thoughts and Harry stumbles to stand from his seat at the table, smoothing a hand down the front of his shirt to get the wrinkles out. He makes sure it’s still tucked securely into his belt and that just the right amount of buttons are undone at the top, swallowing down his nerves. 

He’s still too busy fussing with his appearance when Louis’ soft footsteps reach the bottom of the stairs, his hands clasped in front of him. 

“Sorry, it always takes me a minute to get down the stairs,” he apologizes, blushing. 

Harry’s head shoots up and he blinks at him, taking in his outfit. And - how could Marguerite think he  _ wouldn’t _ compliment him? 

In much brighter clothes than he usually wears, Louis looks like he’s glowing. He’s got on a long sleeved yellow jumper with the white collar of his undershirt showing at the very top, his pants white to match. His hair’s messy but the kind of messy that looks like he was trying to make it so intentionally, and Harry’s heart swells. 

He doesn’t waste any time in crossing the floor to him, pulling his joined hands into his own and leaning down to kiss him properly in greeting. 

The first time he kissed Louis it’d been somewhat of an accident. They’d been in his car, driving around with low music playing just so they’d have some privacy, and Harry leaned over to grab the charger from his glove compartment. When he plugged it in the audio spiked and they both jumped, and Harry ended up with his lips pressed to Louis’, noses bumped together awkwardly. When he’d pulled back to frantically apologize, Louis hadn’t even let him finish the sentence. 

Now it’s something he doesn’t think he could go without, and he isn’t much willing to test the theory if he doesn’t have to. 

Letting go of his lower lip, Harry parts from him with a soft smile. 

“Don’t apologize,” Harry tells him, “you don’t ever have to rush. I’ll wait for you.” 

Turning, he loops his arm through Louis’ beside him and doesn’t make a single comment about how they’re probably going to be very late, instead slowing his steps to time perfectly with Louis’ as one of his legs struggles to keep up with the other. 

Louis blushes gratefully, and within the next few minutes Harry’s got the bar locked up and they’re walking the few blocks to the venue. 

“You look wonderful,” he says honestly. “I’ve never seen you in yellow before.” 

Practically beaming, Louis murmurs his thanks. “Marguerite took me down to Susan’s to pick something out for the party. She said you’d like this one,” he tugs at the jumper lightly. 

“She was right,” Harry grins. 

Susan runs the secondhand clothing shop off of one of the main roads. Thinking about Louis shopping there and thinking about him while he picks out an outfit (just as Harry’d done in return in his own closet) makes his stomach flip pleasantly all over again. 

“You look nice too,” Louis adds. 

“Yeah? I should, I suppose. Took me about an hour to iron this damn shirt,” he huffs. 

Laughter echoes through the empty street as they get closer, their hands joined between them. Harry never thought of himself as funny, but Louis makes him feel like he is. 

When they reach the venue Harry leans forward to open the door for him, placing a hand on his back as he goes through it. It’s every bit as whimsical as Harry remembers it being. 

Despite the fact that it technically began fifteen minutes prior, there aren’t many people here yet. There’s enough space to appreciate the decor properly as well, yellow string lights hanging at different lengths from the ceiling, glasses of cool lemonade poured and ready to be consumed by the guests. 

There’s a stage set up near the front and for a moment Harry’s confused, but then he remembers. Most years he leaves before they announce it, but at the end of every sunflower festival they have votes on the best couple. Harry sees it in the paper afterward, but he’s hardly ever been present for the actual announcement. 

“Sheriff!” 

Maisie and her parents, Hank and Linda, come to greet them, their small family amongst the early guests. Waving with both of her hands, Maisie shouts her hellos. 

“Inside voice, Mais,” Hank reminds her. Then he reaches forward and extends a hand toward Louis. “I don’t believe we’ve met before, I’m Hank, and this is my wife, Linda. I’m sure you’ve seen Maisie runnin’ around here at some point or another,” he jests. 

Louis shakes his hand firmly and Harry ignores the way his lips twitch in pride. “It’s nice to meet you as well! I think I  _ have _ seen Maisie around here before…” he grins, winking at Maisie who giggles when her parents are distracted. 

“We’ve been waiting for this all year, especially Maisie. She loves those sunflowers,” Linda gestures, pointing out Maisie’s yellow flower-printed dress. 

“I can see that,” Harry nods. He turns around and grabs one of the sunflowers from the vase behind him, holding it out to her. “I’m sure they won’t mind if you have this.” 

Clapping her hands excitedly, she takes the flower from Harry and cradles it to her chest. Her parents stay and talk with them a few more moments before they head over to the food tables set up as a buffet, leaving him alone with Louis once again. 

When he turns Louis’ already looking at him, eyes twinkling. 

“What?” Harry asks him. 

“Nothing,” he says. “We should go find a table before they fill up.” 

Following him to the seating area, Harry grabs two lemonades off of a serving tray and some tea cookies for them to snack on, pulling out Louis’ chair for him to sit down once he sets their food aside. 

“Are you impressed so far?” Harry sits in the chair next to him, breaking into one of the cookies. 

“Not really,” Louis returns. He picks up his lemonade and takes a long sip, smirking slightly at Harry’s offended expression. 

“You aren’t impressed,” he deadpans. 

“Well, impressed would mean that I was, like, surprised, yeah?” Louis checks. “I’m not surprised, no. Everything in Aimsley has been this wonderful so far.” 

After his explanation, Louis’ cheeks are pink once again, and Harry’s left with his mouth halfway open, cookie crumbs at the corners as he stares. Louis just keeps surprising him. How on earth is Harry supposed to respond to that? Does he just get down on one knee right here? 

“You guys wanna put your votes in for best couple?” 

Harry turns to the woman that asked them and then back to Louis, and politely declines. Louis doesn’t know anyone well enough to vote and Harry just wants to see who wins regardless. She nods and moves onto the next table, holding out the basket with the votes inside of it. 

Soon after her departure, the speakers pop once before soft music begins filtering through them. It’s the perfect segue into what Harry’d been hoping to do with him anyway. He offers a hand and raises a brow, an open invitation for Louis. 

“Care to dance with me?” 

“I’d love to,” Louis curtsies jokingly, accepting Harry’s hand and letting himself be led to the expansive wooden dance floor where some of the other couples are also beginning to dance, the venue much fuller than just fifteen minutes ago. 

Harry finds a private corner of the room where it’s less lit and there are some excess sunflowers stashed to situate them in, his hands dropping to a respectable height on Louis’ hips. Despite his rigid left side, Louis keeps the rhythm very well, swaying fluidly along with Harry’s movements. Soon enough his hands wind around Harry’s shoulders and Harry hides his face in Louis’ hair to hide his stupid, cheesy grin. 

When they’re close like this it’s easy for his mind to wander. To think about a few specific late nights in his car, hands where they are now on Louis’ waist, their lips pressed together and Louis’ hands in his hair. Times when he situated Louis on his lap and moved with him until they both got each other off through their clothes. 

A couple of times they’ve talked about doing more than that but there’s been nothing yet. Harry only knows shuddery breaths in the dark and trembling hands fisted into his shirt, and for now that’s enough. After what Louis went through with Brett, the most important thing is that he’s comfortable. 

Sometimes it is rather difficult though. 

Like now, as the music fades into something slower with a rougher voice on the track, a song Harry objectively knows but couldn’t conjure up the name of. Most everyone’s scattered to the food by now to get it while it’s fresh off the grill and out of the oven, but Harry can’t bring himself to look away as he tugs Louis even closer, nearly no space left between their bodies. 

Suddenly it’s hot in the room and Harry tugs at his collar, wary of the nice older couples lingering around the room. He doesn’t want to traumatize them, but with how close he is to Louis now it’s difficult to picture anything else but what he’d look like if they were away from here, up in Harry’s bedroom and not in public, and preferably with much less clothes. 

“Harry, what - I mean, are you coming over tonight?” Louis mutters shyly. Harry sighs gratefully - at least he feels it too. 

“If you want me to, sunshine.” 

“Yeah,” Louis licks his lips, eyelashes flicking up to meet his gaze for a moment, “I want you to.” 

His imagination runs wild with possibilities, already planning out what they’ll do with such limited space in the attic. He knows they can make something work if they try. Then he doubts himself, brows furrowing as he considers what they have and haven’t done. 

“What - what exactly are you askin’ of me, sunshine?” Harry asks him quietly. He needs to be certain, or else he’s afraid he might overstep and ruin his chances from the start. 

“I, uhm,” Louis hums, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. “I don’t really know, to be honest.” 

“That’s okay,” Harry assures. “I just - it’s been a while. For me. So I didn’t want to assume or make you uncomfortable at all,” he rushes. 

“It has for me too,” Louis whispers. “Actually, I never really, I mean-” 

Harry’s movements freeze for a second before they resume once he gets a hold of himself, his brain trying frantically to fill in the blanks Louis left at the end of his sentence. He hasn’t  _ what,  _ exactly? 

“You haven’t…” Harry urges him. 

“I mean - he, uhm, he fucked me but I never, uh-” Louis stumbles over his words, a flush high on his cheeks. 

“You’ve never had an orgasm?” Harry asks bluntly. 

Louis glances around them frantically but Harry knows no one’s paying attention to them. He grips Louis around the waist tighter as he waits for an answer with curious eyes. 

“I have, just - never with, uhm, another person,” he finishes, his voice whisper quiet. “Until - until you.” 

“Oh, darlin’,” Harry coos. 

“Sorry, I know that’s not very -  _ hmph _ ,” he swallows down Louis’ abrupt moan with his own mouth, lips pressed to Louis’ smaller ones. 

It only takes seconds for the fight to drain out of him completely, Louis’ complaint dying on his occupied lips. He leans against Harry like he can’t help himself any longer. Harry’s glad for that - he doesn’t think he could either. 

“Don’t apologize, sweetheart,” he says, breaking away from his lips to move to his jaw, “I’m only sorry that you haven’t been treated like you deserve.” 

He punctuates his words with a hand gripping the back of Louis’ neck possessively, tilting it back until he has enough room to explore freely. His lips press into his collarbone and behind his ear, over the frantic pulse beating in time with Harry’s. He’s going to make it up to Louis a thousand times over, much better than quick orgasms in the front seat of his car. 

“Oh -  _ Harry _ ,” he moans, fingers weaving up into his hair. 

Harry hums lightly in response, biting down hard enough to leave a pretty bruise before licking over the heated skin with his tongue. The roughness has Louis limp in his arms, Harry’s grip around his waist and hips the only thing keeping him upright. 

“Quiet, sunshine,” Harry murmurs. “Those noises are just for me, yes?” 

Quickly shutting his mouth and glancing around them, Louis blushes prettily and grabs onto Harry’s shirt to steady himself. “Sorry,” he says again. 

Harry strokes a finger down his cheek and smiles, “Stop apologizing, you’ve got nothin’ to be sorry for.” 

“Okay, sorry,” Louis rushes, then catches himself, blushing even deeper as he stutters. Harry quiets him with another kiss, his doe eyes falling shut and calming once again. 

When he eases away from him Louis giggles at his own inability to follow orders, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth to keep from apologizing yet again. When he leans into Harry’s chest again for one last embrace before the song ends, his head only comes up to Harry’s badge. 

“I’m serious,” Harry adds quietly. “You’ve got no reason to apologize to me. If anything, I owe  _ you _ an apology.” 

Louis pulls back from his chest to look him in the eye, tilting his head. “No, you don’t,” he says. 

“I think I do. When you first came here I certainly wasn’t the nicest to you,” Harry sways them back and forth again, rubbing circles on Louis’ hips with his thumbs. 

“You were just skeptical, and you had every right to be. You were protecting your town,” Louis argues, following the motions. 

With a shake of his head, Harry glances down between them. “Maybe to a certain extent, but you didn’t deserve any of that. I could’ve ran you off completely and then I never would’ve gotten to - to-” Harry huffs, frustrated he can’t just say what he’s thinking. He’s never been all that good at apologizing. 

Despite this, Louis seems to understand what he’s trying to say. He raises his hands to put them on Harry’s cheeks, tilting his gaze down until he doesn’t have any other choice but to look into his eyes. 

“Harry, I’m still here, aren’t I? You should know by now I can handle more than it looks like I can,” he smiles softly. “Believe me, I’ve had much worse than a sheriff who just wants the best for his people.” 

There’s a smile lighting up Louis’ cheeks but Harry can’t bring himself to mirror it completely. Small inklings of guilt still echo sometimes when they’re like this, when Louis’ all happy and lovely and Harry feels like he doesn’t deserve it. 

Arms tightening just slightly around him, Harry tugs him closer and breathes him in again, suddenly not much in the mood to talk anymore. Louis doesn’t give up though, and refuses to look away from him even as his hands slip from Harry’s face to his chest. 

“You’re protective and I understand that. I would be too in your shoes.” He’s quiet for a moment as the song begins to fade out, but their movements don’t cease. Louis’ eyes lower again. “You’ve got a lovely town here, Harry, and I feel so lucky to be a part of it.” 

Even when Harry’s brooding, Louis still somehow manages to nail his insecurities right on the head and promptly soothe them all in one go. Harry blinks down at him once, twice. 

Then he leans forward and takes his lips, cupping his cheek with his hand. It’s some kind of thank you, worlds more eloquent than anything he could ever manage to articulate, and Louis pushes right back as if to remind him of that strength he’d mentioned earlier. 

Both of them have had to be strong for a long time. Maybe now they can just  _ be _ \- no obligations or anyone to report back to. 

Something’s definitely changing because Harry can already picture coming home to this each night and he hasn’t had  _ that _ feeling in  _ years. _ He wants to show Louis what they’ve both been missing in the past. What they both  _ deserve. _

His heart kicks in his chest and beats in time with Louis’ as they part, and Harry holds his gaze steady this time. 

“I’m glad you’re a part of it too,” he rasps, voice low between them. 

Just as they head back to get their food and drinks, Angela, the nice woman that plans most of the events around town, takes the platform and clears her throat into the microphone. 

“If I can get your attention,” she calls, “Thank you all for comin’ out tonight! I’m gonna announce the couple with the most votes and then ya’ll can get back to eating and dancing if you’d like!” 

Bringing Louis over to a table, Harry leans on it and stands behind him, handing him the cup of lemonade from earlier. Everyone begins to settle around them, crowding around the stage up front and talking quietly amongst themselves. 

“And the winner is…” she raises a brow, making a show of opening the yellow envelope that they’d only sealed with the winners moments before. “Sheriff Styles and…. Louis! Louis Tomlinson!” 

Mouth dropping open, Harry huffs a shocked laugh and squeezes the hands that are on Louis’ hips. 

“I - what?” Louis whispers. 

“I’ve got no idea,” Harry murmurs back, unable to hide his grin and people begin turning in their direction, ushering them up to the makeshift stage at the front. 

“Come on up, guys!” Angela waves. 

Marguerite winks at him from across the room when Harry glances over at her. 

With an arm still around him, Harry walks at Louis’ pace up to where she’s standing, helping him step up onto the platform. Maisie and another boy come from the side to present them their tiaras made of woven sunflowers, and Harry kneels to let Maisie put his on before he takes the other from the boy to set on Louis’ hair, fixing the ones that fell out of place. 

“Congratulations, you two,” Angela grins, shaking each of their hands. “You make quite the pair, I’d say.” 

Louis laughs quietly and clings to his side, eyeing the small crowd that’s gathered to watch. Angela points to the cameras from the paper and they pose just in time for the flash to go off. 

“Who’s taking pictures?” Louis whispers. 

“Sunshine News,” Harry murmurs. “The local newspaper.” 

“We’re gonna be in the newspaper?” he gasps, abandoning his pose to glance up at Harry just in time for another shot to go off. 

Smiling so hard his cheeks hurt, Harry kisses his cheek for the next one. He’s going to frame this paper when it comes out. 

“Sure are,” he nods. 

Not many people know Louis yet but the ones that do adore him, rushing up to give hugs and shake hands as they step off the stage. It’s rare that Harry takes an interest in someone and even more uncommon that they’re from around here, so he’s sure it’s a bit of a shock all around. He doesn’t move his hand from Louis’ back as they take some more pictures and finish chatting with the guests, and he can’t stop watching Louis’ rosy cheeks rise with his happiness. 

They’re headed for the door to do some celebrating of their own when a small hand tugs on the back of their shirts, and Harry turns abruptly. 

“Congratulations!” Maisie cheers up at them, her big blue eyes wide and curious as always. 

“Thank you, Maisie,” Harry smiles, “c’mere.” 

Bending down, he wraps his arms around her and lifts her into the air, spinning her back and forth until she squeals happily and clings to the front of his shirt. Louis’ expression softens and Harry colors when he catches it, shifting Maisie to his hip. 

“Thanks, Maisie,” Louis echoes with a smile of his own. 

She tugs on Harry until he turns so she can reach Louis as well, wrapping a hand around his neck to give him a hug. When she’s securely between them she lowers her voice to a whisper and her face turns serious. 

“Mr. Louis?” she asks. 

“Yes?” 

Louis’ eyebrows raise and he tries to keep a straight face, Harry’s own mouth twitching as well as they wait for what she’s going to say. Maisie glances around them and then continues. 

“Will you get me another cookie?” 

Throwing his head backward, Louis laughs at her request and nods, already eyeing the platter on the far table. “I think I can manage that - on one condition.” 

“What is it?” she whispers. 

Reaching above his head, Louis slides off his flower crown and lowers it between them, Maisie’s eyes glistening with wonder. Harry’s heart warms. He has a feeling he knows where this is going. 

“I’ll get your cookie for you only if you take good care of this for me while I’m gone,” he says, setting the sunflowers on her smaller head. 

Maisie gasps, her little fingers gently tracing the petals. “Of course I will, Mr. Louis.” 

Winking at her in thanks, they both watch as Louis turns away and casually heads for the dessert table, narrowly avoiding Maisie’s parents on the other side of the room. He stops twice to chat with other guests, looking perfectly normal here.  _ Right. _

“Mr. Sheriff?” Maisie murmurs, laying her head against his shoulder and breaking him out of his trance. 

“Yes, Maisie?” 

Rocking her slowly back and forth on his chest, Harry pets a hand down the back of her head as she relaxes. His eyes don’t stray from across the room, from where Louis’ just made it to the table. He grabs three frosted cookies and grins at Harry over his shoulder, giving him a discreet thumbs up. 

“I like Mr. Louis,” she says, her words slurring the more sleepy she gets. 

Harry sticks his thumb up as well with the hand he isn’t holding Maisie with, their Louis’ gaze moving when Marguerite steals his attention. Sighing happily, Maisie yawns and shuts her eyes. 

“Yeah,” Harry smiles, pressing a kiss to her hair. He removes the flower crown since it’s falling off and poking her in the cheek, setting it on the table to give back to Louis later. “Yeah, I do too.” 

+

Harry brings the phone away from his ear, noting the fact that they’ve been talking for just over three hours by the time he hangs up. He’s had the phone pressed to his cheek for so long that the cool air on it makes him shiver when he pulls it away. 

Setting the phone down on the table next to him, Harry gazes out at his backyard. It’d been light when he first called, but now the sky’s dark and the temperature has dropped by more than a few degrees. 

Something about Louis makes the time fly when it used to pass by frustratingly slow, when his routine was comfortable but not quite enough anymore. He sighs in content, watching the treeline sway across the long lawn. 

“C’mon, Boy,” Harry says, standing, patting his thigh for the dog to follow him in for the night. 

Just before he heads inside, Harry stops in the doorway and glances over his shoulder at the rocking chair opposite his, still empty and rocking softly with the breeze next to his own. One day. 

Soon. 

+

Rubbing his gloved hands together to rid them of the cold, Harry sighs and grabs the small box of extra Christmas decorations from his backseat. He shuts it with his hip and heads inside, his breath appearing as smoke when it leaves his lips. 

The smell of warm food greets him once he’s inside once more, and he spots Marguerite back in the kitchen. She’s leaned over the stove with her oven mitts on in full chef mode, and Harry already knows she doesn’t like other people in her kitchen but he asks anyway. 

“You need any help?” 

“I’m alright,” she assures without glancing up, “you go ahead and go on up, he’s waitin’ for ya.” 

Saluting her mockingly, Harry starts for the stairs and hunches his shoulders so he’ll be able to fit up the narrow stairway. 

“Lou?” he calls once he’s up, tapping on the open door and peeking hesitantly around the corner. 

“Yeah, come on in!” 

Setting his things down on the small table right inside, Harry glances around the room with a furrowed brow. “What’re you doin’?” 

From behind one of the back shelves, Louis seems to be wrestling with something, his face pinched and body leaned backward as he tugs. After a second, whatever it is gives way and Harry sees green emerge from behind the boxes, a full tree popping out the side, branches and all. Louis coughs as a puff of dust surrounds his face, waving it out of his eyes and putting a hand on his hip. 

“Look what I found,” he cheers, “and all of the ornaments!” 

He gestures to an open container on the ground near Harry, full of sparkling decorations he’d found in one of the boxes. Harry smiles, stepping forward to pick it up and set it out of the way. 

“Here, let me get it the rest of the way out,” he tells Louis, switching places with him behind the dusty shelves. 

With the awkward angle, the old tree is slanted and bent, but it looks like it’ll hold up alright. Bracing his foot, Harry tugs hard on a couple of the branches and manages to wiggle it out from around the corner. With one final tug, it’s completely free from behind the shelf. 

And massively too tall. 

The tree, now standing straight, hits the ceiling and curves forward, the small size even too big for the attic. 

“Well,” Louis begins, then promptly laughs. “I think that’ll work fine. Whadd’ya say?” 

Coughing once, Harry wipes his hands on his jeans and steps away to stand next to Louis instead, examining the tree bending against the slanted ceiling piece. 

“I think it’s perfect,” he nods. 

Running a hand through his hair to fix the pieces that’d fallen awkwardly from moving around, Harry leans over to wrap his arms around Louis’ shoulders. He presses a kiss to his cheek and rocks them back and forth. After being outside in the cold, Louis feels like a little heater pressed up against him, and Harry drinks in the scent of warm vanilla from the generic laundry detergent on his clothes. 

“Marguerite's making some food if you’re interested,” Louis says. “She said she’d help me decorate too. Are you staying for dinner?” 

“How could I say no to that?” Harry murmurs, twining their fingers together and kissing him softly on the lips. 

A few moments later he still hasn’t managed to pull himself away, savoring the sweetness on his tongue. Harry lifts a hand to run his thumb over his cheek, breathless gasps falling into his mouth. 

They hadn’t gotten to spend time together like they’d thought after the party the other night, stuck babysitting Maisie and making small talk with people who wanted to introduce themselves to Louis well into the night, but Harry thinks that’s alright. They had such a good time that the memory still feels palpable in his brain, the image of Louis’ reddened cheeks below his bright yellow flower crown. 

So really Harry’s glad for it, because he’d meant what he said. He’s going to make sure that the first time they’re together is nothing short of perfect. 

“Alright, now I ain’t stayin’ up here if ya’ll are gonna be doin’ all that,” Marguerite’s voice is abrupt and Harry jumps away from him like he’s been scolded. 

He keeps their hands together as Louis flushes bright red, hiding his face in Harry’s shoulder and mumbling an apology. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Harry echoes. 

“Dinner’s in the oven and I’ve got a timer set for fifty-five minutes,” she announces. “The weenies’ll be done soon too. Let’s do this.” 

Harry groans. “They’re  _ hot dogs,” _ he stresses again, hand entwined with Louis’ as he walks the short distance to the massive tree. 

“My house, my weenies,” she insists, digging out the first few ornaments to use. 

From his side Louis snorts, glancing between both of them with a grin. Harry rolls his eyes at her until she catches him and glares. 

Each of them take up different areas of the tree to decorate. Marguerite’s sticking to strictly the area she can reach while standing, Harry’s got the high points, and Louis lowers himself slowly to the ground with a wince, situating his legs out until he can decorate the bottom of the branches with the lights and tinsel. 

“Dinner smells wonderful, by the way,” Harry tells her, reaching up to hang his first ornament. “And very warm.” 

“Is it cold out?” Louis asks. 

“Extremely. If we’re not careful we’ll get a freeze. In fact,” Harry glances around the room, “if ya’ll have any pipes up here you should leave the water dripping overnight.” 

Louis nods at his instructions as he continues lining the decorations around the short part of the tree, his eyes narrowed determinedly. Harry smiles a bit at him when he isn’t looking. 

“I hope you’re not leavin’ poor Boy outside tonight. He don’t need to be out in this kinda weather,” Marguerite mutters, sliding around Harry to get to the other side. Eyes widening, Harry takes her place and tries to double his efforts. 

“You’re actin’ like he ever sleeps outside,” Harry scoffs. “He sleeps in my bed because he’s spoiled rotten.” 

A few more moments pass as they continue decorating before Louis clears his throat. “Who’s Boy?” 

“Oh, that’s Harry’s dog,” Marguerite answers him. 

“You have a dog?” Louis gasps, eyes flicking over to him from where he’s sat on the floor, ornaments arranged between his legs as he decorates the lower branches. 

“German shepherd,” Marguerite tells him, “real sweet. A lover.” 

“His name’s Boy,” Harry adds uselessly, just to take the attention off of himself. Still, he winces at the very obvious repetition of what they’d already said. Louis can tell he’s deflecting. His bright expression darkens just a little, and Harry can feel the shift. He clears his throat and waits for the subject to change. 

He knows he should invite Louis over. He doesn’t even know why it’s such a big deal for him, but it’s been difficult to get over. Each time there’s an opportunity Harry just clams up and each time, without fail, Louis notices and it makes him feel awful. 

It’s no excuse, but Harry never had a home base growing up. He’d move around from hotel to hotel, penthouse to penthouse, and never settle in one place. People were constantly coming in and out of his space and touching his things. His home is his own now, and it’s a part of him that’s difficult to just expose. 

Which isn’t to say he can’t picture it, because he most definitely can. Louis making coffee with him in the morning before work, the way he’d fit in the other rocking chair perfectly, what the silhouette of him outlined against his sheets under the lamplight at night would look like. He already has a pretty good feeling Boy will like him just as much. 

So the only thing that’s really stopping him is - himself. Harry sighs. 

Marguerite starts talking to Louis about other things, the weather and cooking and the business, but Harry’s mind lingers as they continue decorating. By scooting himself around, Louis’ nearly finished with the entire bottom half, and Marguerite's been finished for a while now, just leaned up against one of the shelves lazily as she chats with Louis. At least hanging the ornaments gives him something to do, and Harry’s grateful for the excuse not to involve himself in any more conversation for right now. 

Eventually though, the timer downstairs goes off and echoes through the stairs and the cracked door, alerting them that dinner’s finished. Marguerite pushes off of the shelf just as Harry hangs his last ornament. 

“I’ll go make our plates and holler when they’re ready,” she excuses herself. 

Harry finds himself in some sort of trance as he stares at the decoration he’d just placed there, a small red ornament with a picture of Marguerite's family printed on the front. 

Her husband passed away long before Harry ever came to town, but he knows they must’ve had something special. Enough so that she never even considered remarrying or even dating anyone afterward. They never had children, although she says often she’d loved to have had some. 

The picture is faded and scratched up on the surface, but their smiles seem just as bright. Marguerite looks much different here, youthful and carefree. She’s beautiful now too, but it’s clear how much she loved her husband. 

Sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, Harry ponders his own situation. Marguerite hadn’t known she would lose the love of her life. She hadn’t had the chance to say goodbye or to do anything really, before it was already too late. Harry doesn’t want his chance to slip away like that. 

Clanging draws him out of his stupor, Louis cursing lightly as he tries to use the shelf behind him to stand up. Harry rushes the short distance to him to help. 

“Here,” he says, offering a hand, “let me help you.” 

“Thanks,” Louis grabs his hand, his eyes wide when Harry pulls him to his feet in one smooth motion. “Woah.” 

Chuckling lightly, Harry holds him close so he doesn’t stray too far. “Would you like to put on the last decoration?” 

Brows furrowed, Louis glances up at him and then to the empty bins laid out on the floor in front of them. Harry reluctantly leaves him just long enough to grab something from the box he’d brought with him, returning with a bright, handmade star for the top of the tree. 

Gasping, Louis grins and takes it from him gingerly, inspecting all of the small details. The woven star glitters in the low light and reflects in his eyes, Harry’s own gaze drawn to the movement. 

“I can put it on?” he checks, chin tilted up once more. 

“If you want,” Harry nods. 

He gestures for Louis to stand in front of him, then places his hands on his hips, careful to avoid any sensitive spots, and lifts him up high so he can reach the very tip, stuck up against the ceiling. 

When he’s finished, he lowers Louis again and turns him into his chest as they look at the finished product. “It looks beautiful,” he whispers. 

Still warm against his chest, Louis seems oblivious to everything going on inside of his head. Harry thinks he’s made up his mind. He takes one last long look at the ornament and inhales against the top of his feathery head. 

“You should come over for Christmas,” Harry murmurs. 

“What?” Louis’ head whips up. “Really? Are you sure?” 

Giving him a soft smile, Harry nods. He’s nervous, but for right now it feels like the good kind of nervous. Besides, it’s Louis, and Harry trusts him. If he really needs to, he can always just explain why he’s so torn up about the whole thing and he knows he’d understand. 

“I’d love to,” Louis whispers against him. He leans up on his toes and his hands meet around the back of Harry’s neck, lips pressing against Harry’s once more. 

Maybe it’s because part of him was still afraid Louis would leave, he muses. That he’d up and decide that this kind of living wasn’t for him and go back to California or somewhere else. 

But he hasn’t, just like he assured Harry at the festival. He’s still here, right in Harry’s arms, firm and sure and fitting snugly into all of his absurd routines. Harry squeezes the fistfuls he’s got of Louis’ shirt in silent thanks. 

They part from each other quietly and stand in front of the decorated tree, Louis’ head on his chest. Harry lays his cheek there and sighs. The decision still feels right. 

“You want me to bring the weenies up now?” comes a shout from downstairs. 

_ “Marguerite!” _

+

The Tuesday before Christmas, Harry finds out from Marguerite that Louis’ birthday is Christmas Eve. And he hadn’t even told  _ her _ \- she’d just happened to see it on his paperwork when he applied for the job. 

Appalled at the fact that he hadn’t known before, he immediately sets to work thinking about what he can do for the celebration. They were already set to have dinner at Harry’s that night anyway, but he feels like something a bit more special might be required -  _ deserved. _

So he spends all day before thinking about what they can do. A surprise party would be nice, but Harry doesn’t think Louis would enjoy it when he only knows a limited amount of people so far, especially since he’d been keeping his birthday a secret. 

With that in mind, his options narrow down to private celebrations. Dinner was already in the works, but Harry thinks he can be more creative than that. It takes him a few hours and some serious searching through his house, in cabinets and closets and through bookshelves, but eventually it hits him. 

Harry grins as he collects the blankets from the closet, his old projector from the storage outside, and all of the movies from underneath his television. He hopes Louis likes country films, because that’s about all he’s got. 

He’s going to make this a Christmas - and birthday - to remember. 

+

This morning, Christmas Eve, Harry woke up excited. It’s freezing cold but they only got just a tiny bit of snow this year, dusted lightly over the grass and the trees out front. He’d woken up energized and happy, thinking of seeing Louis later on. 

Now, he’s just nervous. 

He shakes so much pouring his coffee that it spills on the counter, leaving what he’s sure will be dark stains in the grout. Shaking his head, he washes his hands as Boy tilts his curious head at him at the disruption of their usual routine. 

Time seems to fly when he’s panicking, unfortunately, and eight-thirty turns into noon turns into five-fifteen, and soon Louis will be showing up at his house. Harry feels like he’s a tornado, zipping through the hallways as he pulls on a clean pair of trousers, nearly tripping twice as he simultaneously tries to tidy up in the process. The pasta gets close to burning on the stove and Harry catches it just before it’s unsalvageable. He’s making the same dish they’ve talked about before because he knows Louis likes it, the sauce from the grocery store out on the counter. The absolute last thing he needs is for the food to be awful. 

Tossing a bit of one of the meatballs down for Boy to snack on, Harry leaves it on the lowest setting with the lid on so it’ll be warm when Louis arrives. Then he heads outside to set up the real surprise. 

His backyard is one of his favorite places in the world, and he supposes if he’s letting Louis inside of his house, he’s going to rip the bandaid off in one go and show him the entire thing. As he pulls his truck around to it, Harry surveys the open land. There’s only one window on the right side of the house since that’s where the study and guest bathroom are, so it’ll be the perfect spot to set up the projector. 

Putting the vehicle in park, Harry takes out the key and hops down to start setting it up, grabbing the supplies from the bed of the truck. He situates the projector first just a bit ahead of the tailgate, then flicks it on to make sure it still works while he’s got time. Just barely the loading screen flickers on and illuminates a large square on the side of his house. It isn’t dark enough yet right now, but in an hour or so he thinks it should be just the right brightness.

Next he unfolds the heavy blankets he’d grabbed from the linen closet and layers them over the hard plastic so that Louis’ side won’t ache from sitting on it. The pillows go on next, arranged so they can sit up against the back of the truck while they eat, and then a couple more throw blankets over the top to be safe since it’s so cold outside. 

When he’s finished he stands back and puts his hands on his hips, surveying his work. It looks proper cozy, he reckons, and he hopes Louis will love it, even if it’s not much. 

Harry heads back inside through the back door and shakes off his boots on the rug. Just as he’s fixing his sleeves, he hears Boy bark, and then a light knock on the front door. Nervousness kicking in again, Harry inhales sharply and heads over to the entryway to invite him in. 

It still feels a bit monumental to him, letting someone inside of his house for the first time. Before it didn’t matter what anyone else thought because these walls were for Harry, and they were so much more than enough for him. But now - now he really wants Louis to like them too. 

When he swings open the wooden door, Louis’ on the other side in his thick winter coat, arms crossed over his chest and a smile on his face. 

“Hey,” he breathes. 

“Hey,” Harry echoes dumbly. 

Instead of any formal conversation or rational action, Harry steps forward and draws him into his chest, abruptly kissing him on the lips and grabbing Louis’ hands as he falls into it just as seamlessly as he always does. Harry was already going to let him in either way, but the reminder that they fit so well together, the little sighs Louis let out against his lips, keep him grounded. He’s  _ sure, _ even if he’s scared. 

He reckons Louis was just about terrified when he had to tell Harry what happened before too, and suddenly Harry’s even more grateful for him than he was before. This isn’t getting even or feeling guilty, but Harry’s happy that maybe he can share a bit of himself in return. 

“Would-” he licks over his lips after they part, moistening where they’d gone dry with his nerves and the cold, “would you like to come in?” 

“I’d love to,” Louis smiles softly, readjusting his hand in Harry’s grip. “You know, I was just gonna say that the drive down here was so pretty with all of the trees and-” 

Louis’ voice cuts out as soon as Harry shuts the door behind them and leads him around the corner into the living room. Practically the entire house can be seen from here with the intentional open floor plan, and Harry gulps, frozen as he waits for his reaction. 

“Do you like it?” he prompts, the usual confidence absent from his tone. 

“Harry, I-” Louis’ mouth stays open slightly as he shakes his head. 

Harry’s nauseous. He thinks he might be sick if he stares at Louis any longer but he can’t bring himself to look away. This house is everything to him - it  _ is _ him practically, and if Louis doesn’t like it it’s going to make things much, much different. Suddenly he’s self conscious of the one creaky floorboard near the carpet and the scratch mark in the hallway when Boy went through his scratching phase as a puppy. The scars that are on the house are reminiscent of his own in many ways. 

“This - it’s absolutely gorgeous,” Louis whispers, still looking around. “You - everything’s so warm and cozy and,” he gasps, “a fireplace? Oh my God.” 

As Louis rushes over to examine it, a weight feels like it falls off of Harry’s shoulders. He sags with relief and an emotional smile takes over his face, watching him gently run a finger over the bricks. 

“You like it?” 

“I  _ love _ it,” Louis corrects, turning to smile softly at him. “Give me a tour?” 

Unable to decline when he asks so sweetly, Harry walks him all around the house and then helps him upstairs, to the landing where he can see down into the living room again. Louis stops frequently to point out the things he likes, his eyes wide and head continuously turning as he takes everything in. Harry feels like he can’t stop grinning. 

At the end they’re back down near the kitchen, and Harry has him sit at the island while he puts the pasta into two separate bowls, sprinkling parmesan cheese over it, slipping a spoon in the side and handing it over. 

Before they can start eating - and now that Harry feels a thousand times less stressed than he had earlier - he nudges Louis’ good leg to get his attention. 

“So…” he starts. 

“So…?” Louis hums, eyes narrowing. 

“I heard it was someone’s birthday today,” Harry says carefully. He doesn’t know if Louis enjoys celebrating or not, but he feels like he should at least acknowledge it. 

Sniffing in place of a laugh, Louis raises a brow as he glances down at his bowl. “How did you know?” 

“Marguerite may have mentioned it to me,” he admits. 

“She’s not gonna jump out of somewhere, is she?” 

Harry’s lips quirk. “No, m’afraid not.” 

There’s a pause as Louis moves around some of his noodles with his fork, his face much more cloudy than it’d been just moments before. Harry swallows thickly once again. 

“Is that what this is, then?” Louis asks. 

“No, I mean - I didn’t know what you were comfortable with or if you even wanted to celebrate. I was gonna make dinner either way and I had some other things planned but if you don’t want to-” 

Harry’s rambling does manage to bring a light smile to his face and he counts it as a tiny victory. Louis sets his utensil down and folds his hands in his lap, clearing his throat. 

“I don’t mind, really,” he begins. “My birthday before was always kind of awful because, well, either he forgot about it or he remembered and wanted to - celebrate in other ways,” Louis winces. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry offers carefully. On the inside, his blood boils all over again. 

“It’s okay,” Louis shakes his head. “I think - I think it would be different with you.” 

Finally looking him in the eye, Louis nods to himself. His voice doesn’t waver at all and Harry finds himself smiling again, admiring Louis’ talent to still be bright when he’s seen so much darkness. 

Harry isn’t entirely sure if Louis’ saying that his  _ birthday _ would be different with Harry or the other things he mentioned would, but from his intense, unblinking gaze, he has a feeling it might just be both. Another zip of energy runs down his spine and he nods back in silent response. Whatever he’s asking, Harry will make sure it’ll be a thousand times better. 

“You said there were other things planned?” Louis asks quietly. 

“Yeah,” Harry nods. “Here, bring your bowl.” 

Food in hand, he walks them outside to where he’d set everything up earlier. Louis’ reaction is no different than the awe he showed before as well, eyes twinkling as he takes in the scene of the backyard. “C’mon,” Harry says. 

Once he sets the food down Harry jogs back to the house, slides the door open again, and whistles for Boy to come out with them. 

“Oh my God,” Louis says again, giggling happily as the german shepherd enters the backyard. 

Boy doesn't bark much and his favorite spot is usually underneath the dining room table, so Harry figures he must’ve been hiding under there until he called him. He’s the slightest bit skittish still as he stays next to Harry, his tail bumping into his legs when they walk. 

“This is Boy,” Harry introduces him. 

“Hi, Boy,” Louis coos, bending slightly to offer his hand for the dog to sniff. 

Boy peeks out to the side and tentatively steps forward, using his snout to determine if Louis’ safe. He sniffs his hand up to Louis’ arm, then half-circles him before doing it again. 

And then, suddenly, he’s all over him. 

Boy leaps up onto his hind legs until he’s nearly Louis’ full height, licking at his face and barking playfully at him. 

“Boy, Boy,” Harry laughs, helping him off so Louis isn’t trapped against the truck. “Off, c’mere. You alright?” he asks Louis. 

“I’m okay,” Louis giggles, wiping at the sides of his face. “Just a bit slobbery.” 

He reaches back down to pet Boy’s back and head for a few more minutes, murmuring sweetly to him, and Harry nearly zones out again watching them until a chill makes him shiver, and he remembers why they’re out here. 

“I was thinking we could watch a movie,” he suggests. 

“Oh, that would be lovely,” Louis says, standing to full height. “What’ve you got?” 

Taking his hand, Harry helps him step up onto the tire and then over the side so he won’t have to move his back too much, gently lowering him until he’s sitting comfortably on the blankets and pillows. Then he hands Louis the bowl of pasta and picks up the selection he’d brought out. 

“Alright, I hope you like some of the classics,” Harry warns him, holding up the titles. “I’ve got Footloose, True Grit, Forrest Gump, and Old Yeller.” 

Throwing his head backward, Louis laughs at his options. “We’re absolutely not watching Old Yeller,” he says, glancing pointedly toward Boy who’s laying in the grass beside them, oblivious, happily licking at his own paws. “How about Footloose?” 

“Sounds perfect,” Harry grins. He walks through the grass to get to the DVD player just below the projector, popping in the CD once he’s got it out of the case. 

The DVD menu shows up on the screen and Harry uses the buttons on the machine to start the movie, the familiar advertisements beginning to roll. He makes it back to the blanket just as the sky grows dark enough for all of the colors to appear brighter on the side of the house. 

“This is nice,” Louis tells him, turning on his side and into Harry’s chest. 

“Yeah?” Harry hums, tugging him closer, “Good. Want you to have a good birthday.” 

“It’s already the best one yet,” he whispers as the opening starts. 

Heart warm and happy, Harry picks up his own bowl and begins eating with him. He hadn’t thought to bring napkins, let alone that they probably shouldn’t be eating spaghetti on white sheets anyway, but Harry absolutely doesn’t mind wiping (or kissing) the excess off of Louis’ cheek. 

It takes them until nearly half of the movie to finish eating and getting comfortable, Louis situated between his legs now with their empty bowls set off to the side. The soundtrack to Footloose is one that Harry often gets stuck in his head, but all that’s up there now is a constant loop of Louis’ quiet  _ I think it would be different with you. _

So they make it another thirty minutes or so before it really gets dark outside, and the chill in the air grows to be too much. Louis’ practically shaking in his arms even though he’s got on his jacket and several thick blankets, and really Harry’s no better. He hugs him tighter and leans forward. 

“It’s cold,” he murmurs against the back of Louis’ head. 

Laughing suddenly, Louis shivers again and nods. “Very.” 

“You wanna head inside?” 

“Please,” Louis breathes, before Harry’s even gotten his sentence out. 

Cheeks and the tip of his nose painted pink with the frost, Harry packs up their things and leaves them in the backseat to clean up later. He pats his thigh for Boy to follow them, then keeps an arm wrapped around Louis to help him down and back inside. He shuts the door quickly and walks over to the fireplace, leaving a spot for Louis to stand so they can warm up again in front of the flame. 

With the lights low, Louis looks like he’s glowing as the orange reflection dances on his skin. Harry’s hands itch to reach out and touch, and it seems like Louis has the same intention as he goes in for another tight hug. 

“Hey, thank you, Harry,” he says. “For all of this. And for letting me stay here in general. And just - everything, really. Thank you.” 

“Don’t thank me, sunshine,” he mutters. “Just treating you how you deserve.” 

“No, I - you don’t know how much it means to me. I’m, like, the happiest I think I’ve ever been,” Louis admits softly. Harry pauses once again to run his eyes over his features, his strength shining through his eyes. 

There are a thousand things Louis could complain about. How Harry treated him at first, for one. If not that then maybe how bad things have been in the past, how such a good person didn’t deserve to be treated so badly. How he still has scars to show for those times that shouldn’t be there but won’t ever fade. How he’s living in an attic with practically no air conditioning and no bed. How he works long hours for little pay. The list could go on and on. 

And yet instead he sits here, giving Harry a chance even after he treated him badly, talking about how this is the happiest he’s ever been in his life. It’s much too soon to say Harry’s in love with him but - he may very well be close to it. Closer than he’s ever been with anyone else. 

Overcome with emotion, Harry’s at a loss for how to express to him what he’s feeling. So he leans forward again with hands on either side of his face and kisses him, deep and thorough as the fire crackles beside them. 

It doesn’t take long for them to warm up after that, Louis’ hands curling around the back of his neck as Harry’s dip down to his hips. The cold temperature vanishes between their pants and Louis’ noises quickly, lost in the sudden desperation of their movements. 

“Harry,” he says again, breaking away from his lips. Louis’ gaze bounces from his eyes to his lips and back again, blinking rapidly. 

“Do you - upstairs?” Harry murmurs, hope burning in his chest along with pure want.

“Yes, please,” he says again. 

Harry meant it when he said he would wait for Louis always, but in this circumstance it just feels right to slip his hands underneath him and carry him up to the bedroom instead, his legs dangling as he squeals and grabs onto his shirt for balance. On the way up he lays his head down, his nose in Harry’s neck, and sighs contentedly. 

Kicking the bedroom door open with his foot, he sets Louis gently down on his feet and locks it behind them before returning his lips to Louis’. 

“I’ll show you how you deserve to be treated,” Harry whispers again, mouth grazing the outside of Louis’ ear. 

“You - you’ll fuck me?” 

Louis’ voice is high and airy and his pretty eyes are fluttered shut, but Harry chuckles in response. Oh, he thinks, he’s going to do much more than  _ that. _

“No,” he says. “I’m not gonna fuck you.” 

In contrast with his words, he ignores Louis’ hurt expression and walks them backward toward the bed, kicking off his shoes and helping Louis out of his jacket. Harry’s belt comes off next, and then the first few buttons of his shirt, Louis’ eyes confused but drawn to the tan, exposed skin. 

“Then what are-” he doesn’t manage to finish his sentence before Harry picks him up by the waist and lays him back against the sheets. He settles into the plush pillows hesitantly, big eyes glancing up at him for reassurance. “Harry?” he asks. 

His tone sounds so vulnerable, so unsure for a moment that Harry stops immediately and joins him on the bed, hovering over his face and pressing a kiss to his temple. Slowly he massages Louis’ shoulders and places his lips all around his neck and chest to soothe him until he’s pliant again. 

“I’m not gonna fuck you,” he says, kissing his cheek. “M’gonna get you out of these clothes, get you naked and laid out for me on my bed,” he lists, humming against Louis’ skin, “m’gonna spread you out and get my mouth on you for a little,” he adds, “then, when you’re real nice and ready for me,” he lifts his head again, catching Louis’ eye, “m’gonna make love to you, sunshine.” 

The confusion seems to clear from Louis’ eyes and he relaxes again, meeting Harry halfway with his touches. 

“Oh,” he breathes. 

Groaning into his mouth, Harry gives him a bruising but tender kiss, attempting to show him just how much he means it. It’s been ages since the last time he’s done this but he isn’t nervous, not with Louis. 

It all moves fast for a moment as they wrestle with their clothes, Harry undoing the rest of his buttons and yanking off the shirt while simultaneously trying to get Louis’ off as well. He sighs softly into Louis’ mouth when there’s finally skin against skin, warm and familiar even though he’s never felt him like this before. 

Everything feels perfect until his fingers stray lower and trace over a raised ridge of flesh on Louis’ back. Pulling away from his lips, Harry’s brows furrow when he remembers what caused that. When Louis realizes why he stopped, he freezes, round eyes blinking open to see his reaction. 

Harry presses a lingering kiss to his cheek and taps him on the hip. 

“Turn over for me,” he requests. 

Although he’s obviously nervous, Louis does as he’s told. Slowly he rotates himself within the confines of Harry’s arms until his cheek is pressed into the pillowcase, his bare upper chest in the sheets while his back lays exposed. 

Rubbing his thumbs over the sides of his waist, Harry kisses the spot in between his shoulder blades softly. He reaches down to tug Louis’ trousers off without moving him too much in the process, taking the time to make sure they don’t catch around his ankles. 

In a matter of seconds he’s laid out bare in Harry’s bed. The idea would drive him wild, and in some ways it still does, but there are more important things to be addressed first. When Harry allows himself to look, he sees red. 

Louis’ scar, true to his word, runs from the middle of his back all the way to his upper thigh on the left side of his body. Harry’s hands twitch at his sides where he’s stood on his knees in the middle of the bed. He aches to reverse time and take away his pain, to be in the moment and undo the trauma he’s sure came with this. He aches to get his hands on the man who did this and not let go until he isn’t capable of ever doing it again, but more than all of that, he wants to make good on his promise of treating Louis like he deserves. 

Bending at the waist, Harry places his hands on Louis’ hips once more and soothes him when he jumps at the touch. He slides up to kiss him properly again, accepting the small whimper into his own mouth. Then he lowers himself to the area of marred skin, gently stroking a finger over where it’s healed as much as it can. 

His lips trace the trajectory all the way from his waist to the curve of his arse and his thigh where it finally ends, abrupt and harsh and unlike Louis’ sweet appearance. His anger swells again but before it can get the better of him, Louis’ smaller hand appears near Harry’s face, fingers open for Harry to place his own hand on top. 

He takes it, squeezing hard. 

“You’re gorgeous,” Harry tells him, thumb smoothing over his skin. 

The only response Louis gives is a quick shift on the bed sheets, but Harry already knows he’s blushing. He’d give anything to see it, although right now he’s got other plans. Louis may not believe him yet when Harry tells him he’s beautiful, but he will soon. 

Shifting even lower, Harry kisses the curve of his arse, tongue dancing along behind him as Louis shivers. 

“What are you…?” he murmurs, dazed, trying to look back over his shoulder at Harry. 

“Said I was gonna get my mouth on you,” Harry counters. “I make good on my promises, sunshine.” 

“Oh. Are - are you sure you want to -  _ oh _ ,” Louis groans, burying his head into his folded arms just as Harry spreads him open and runs his tongue up the length of his arse, right over his hole. 

Harry doesn’t even bother answering him. 

Instead he shows him with his actions, using his thumbs to spread him out even further. Without realizing it, Louis’ thighs spread open further and he arches his back for a better angle, already beginning to feel the effects of Harry’s mouth in a place Harry would bet money Louis’ last boyfriend was much too selfish to ever explore. 

“Want you to come as many times as you want,” he says, lifting from him only long enough to get the words out. 

If Louis says he’s never had an orgasm with another person, Harry’s going to give him as many as he possibly can. Preferably until he can’t take it anymore, until he feels so good he can’t do anything else but let it crash over him again and again. 

His body fully shakes at Harry’s words, his smaller hands gripping at the linen as he works his hips up and down unconsciously, chasing the high. He nearly screams when Harry brings a slim finger between his tongue and Louis’ hole, teasing it over the sensitive, tight flesh. 

“Tha’s’it, sunshine,” Harry coos, hand gripping handfuls of his arse hard enough to leave behind barely-there prints, then doubles his efforts with his mouth. 

Sliding up on his knees a bit, Louis’ muscles tighten under his touch in warning of his imminent release. Harry swirls his tongue filthily before he sucks hard at the ring of muscle, his teeth barely grazing it. 

Just as he manages to get a finger inside to the knuckle, Louis’ moaning, reaching behind him to grab at Harry’s head as he comes for the first time of the night. 

Harry keeps his finger inside of him and helps him rut down onto the mattress until it’s over, shushing his whimpers and leaning up to hover over him again and press his lips to his shoulder blades until he stops shivering. 

“Good boy,” he whispers. 

He returns to his former position and presses several kisses to each side of his arse before he pulls away, biting at it lightly until the skin turns bright red. And he’s very well into it too, before he hears Louis trying to muffle a lazy giggle into the pillow. 

“Why are you laughing,” Harry frowns, crawling over him again to look at him. 

“Your mustache,” Louis grins sheepishly. “It - it tickles.” 

Grinning, Harry nuzzles against the side of his face and his neck with his mustache until he’s really laughing, rolling around trying to escape the itch. 

“You love it,” Harry argues. 

Without hesitation, Louis answers. “I do.” 

They’d only been talking about his mustache, but the mention of love has Harry’s mind turning back to why they’re here, how good he wants to make Louis feel. Taking his hand again and sliding it up beside his head on the pillow, he squeezes again. 

“Gonna make love to you like a gentleman,” Harry murmurs. 

“Want - want you to,” Louis gasps, thrusting his chest forward as Harry thumbs at his nipple. 

Now that he’s on his back after their tickling, Harry reaches over and grabs a pillow to put underneath his hips. He fluffs it and checks with him to make sure it’s comfortable, then sticks two of his fingers into Louis’ mouth to wet them and get back to what he’d been doing before. 

Unfortunately, they aren’t made to stretch like some other people are, and using his fingers to open him up is only going to do so much. But Harry thinks it’s definitely worth the effort since it’s been a while for both of them. He’s going to do everything he can to make this perfect, to be what Louis deserves. 

Keeping his mouth nibbling at Louis’ chest, he nudges his legs open again with his knees and drags the two digits between them until they rest at his entrance. Louis tenses but doesn’t pull away as he manages one like before, and just the very tip of a second. Harry uses his tongue to distract him as he works it all the way in. 

It’s a steady rhythm and soon enough Louis seems like he’s enjoying it, eyes fluttered shut and head turned to the side as he chases the predictable thrusts. Harry just wants to get him used to it first, to draw this out, because he’s afraid he may not last very long once he’s actually inside of him. 

He fingers Louis with three digits until he’s reduced to a babbling, weepy mess and just on the edge of another orgasm, kissing the edge of his lips softly. 

“V’got to get stuff, hold on,” he tells him. 

Rolling off of the bed and walking quickly to the ensuite bathroom, Harry fumbles for the cabinet and throws it open a bit too harshly, rifling through extra toilet paper and toothpaste bottles until he finds the box of condoms he used to keep under it. He cheers to himself when he finds it, and then promptly frowns when he realizes it’s empty. 

“It’s empty,” he echoes to Louis, standing in the doorway and holding up the box. “I’m all out.” 

For a second his heart drops because Louis looks like an angel laying there, spread out and sweating, hazy under the influence of Harry’s touch and ready for more. More that Harry can’t give to him now. 

“Uhm, that’s okay,” Louis leans up on his elbows, his lip caught between his teeth. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I - well, it’s been a long time for both of us, yeah? I haven’t been with anyone since I last got tested so,” he gulps, “if you’re okay with it…” 

Harry gawks at him for a moment before his eyes darken, narrowing as sharp arousal swirls in his belly. He stalks toward the bed again, tossing the empty box somewhere behind him. He doesn’t even flinch as it hits the floor, his eyes fully on Louis. 

“I am most  _ definitely _ okay with it,” he growls. 

Huffing a quick laugh, Louis drops back onto the sheets again and Harry’s struck by his body language. Despite anything else, Louis’ completely open for him, his shoulders back and posture calm, trusting, his touch soft. Thick emotion keeps welling up in Harry’s throat as he struggles to keep hold of himself. 

In seconds he’s situated between his split thighs again, fisting a hand over his cock to relieve some of the aching pressure. Louis’ lip remains bitten as he watches with interested eyes, his own prick laying hard, leaking onto his tummy. Harry shifts so he can grab both of them in his hand at the same time, groaning at the difference in their size. 

When he thinks he might come, he rips his hand away even when Louis whines at him to keep going, dipping two fingers back into his entrance to double check. He’s still looser than he was earlier, so Harry spits into his hand and grabs himself, teasing Louis with the enlarged tip of his cock. 

“Ready, sunshine?” 

At Louis’ nod, he braces his knees on the bed and pushes forward, keeping sight of Louis’ eyes as he keeps inching into him. Their facial expressions remain much the same, mouths open and eyebrows raised, bitten lips rounded as their noises escape into the other’s mouth. 

He sighs when there’s no more left to go, when his hips are snug against Louis’ arse. It feels like a dream, even better than he thought it would, and he smiles down at Louis, but stops when he sees tears rolling down his cheek. 

“Hey, what’s the matter?” he rushes softly, “What is it, sunshine?” 

“Just - just happy,” Louis sniffs, grabbing at his shoulders when he accidentally moves too much. 

“Oh, love,” Harry coos. 

Shushing him until he calms, Harry rubs his cheek against Louis’ to get rid of the moisture, afraid that if he stops leaning on his hands he may ruin his tense restraint. Harry can only imagine what this feels like for him after so long, and he knows that extra bit of time to get adjusted can be crucial, especially because Louis probably didn’t get to have that every time before. 

Minutes pass, Harry isn’t sure how many, and he whispers sweet things into Louis’ ear until he’s still once more, running hands over his sides and his arms. Slowly, Louis lifts his leg and rests it on Harry’s hip and Harry holds it there for him so he won’t have to strain. 

“Louis,” he murmurs, “will you tell me how you’re feeling?” 

“G-good,” he stutters, shifting experimentally on the pillow below him. He gasps slightly until it turns into a moan, shivering as his prick slides across Harry’s abdomen. 

“Can I move, sunshine?” 

“Yeah, yeah. Please,” he manages. 

And so he does, just small increments of his hips moving out before he slides back in again. The first few drags aren’t as smooth as they could be as they get the hang of it, but soon enough he manages to fix the angle of his hips and they both freeze, moaning loudly. Louis’ hands scramble to grab at his shoulders the more he pushes inside. 

“That’s it,” Harry says again. “Doing so good for me, sweetheart. Taking me  _ so well, _ ” he groans. 

Whimpering, Louis meets him as well as he can on each downward movement, his head thrown to one side. Harry leans down to take advantage, nibbling at his skin until fresh love bites litter his neck. 

He begins to fuck into him faster, but the closeness never fades. Tugging his chin back to the front, Harry presses their foreheads together and holds him there as he works them up the bed, stopping in short intervals to make sure he’s still comfortable and that his side isn’t aching. 

Soon enough he’s got the entire mattress shifting back and forth with them, Harry’s hand slipping down to settle around Louis’ neck. It’d been too tempting not to, watching the way his fingers wrap around the flushed, marked up skin. He squeezes just enough that Louis chokes on a groan, kissing him again. 

Louis’ hands raise to grab at Harry’s wrist but they don’t pull him off, just rest there as he struggles to get any coherent words out other than  _ please _ or  _ more _ or  _ Harry. _ On instinct he retracts his hand anyway and grabs both of Louis’ wrists in it, holding them above his head as he slows his thrusts, drawing out painfully slowly before fucking back into him hard. He doesn’t miss the way Louis’ eyes roll back in his head. 

“Maybe one of these days I’ll cuff you,” Harry mutters conversationally, experimenting with his hands as he tightens his grip around Louis’ wrists. 

“Oh,” Louis gasps, his chest pushing up toward Harry as he thrashes. 

Lips quirking up at his reaction, he ends up abandoning his hold as his muscles tense in anticipation, chasing his own first release of the night. He’s pretty sure Louis might come from this alone with how much he’s shivering again, grabbing at Harry’s skin with his fingernails. His prick is still nestled between them and grinding against Harry’s abs with every upstroke, their midsections sticky with his excitement. 

“You gonna come for me, sweetheart?” Harry hums sweetly, in obvious contrast with his rough rhythm. 

Louis babbles up at him still, some semblance of a yes falling from his lips repeatedly. His voice is so endearing Harry leans down to taste it, rotating his middle to hit the deepest parts of him that he can reach. 

“Ah, ah, ah,” Louis hisses, breaking apart from him to scream toward the ceiling, hugging Harry’s sweaty head to his chest intimately. 

Eyes shut, Harry buries his face into his skin and grabs his hips, ready to feel what it’s like to be that close with another person. It’s heaven to be inside of him, but Harry can’t wait any longer to mark him up from the inside, to not only get to make love to him but to see himself dripping out of Louis afterwards as well. 

With a sharp cry, Louis comes beneath him, thrashing back and forth and stuttering through it. Harry pistons his hips faster, faster, faster, brows raising as he matches him and finally comes, collapsing into Louis’ embrace once more. 

He’s careful to hold his weight up so he won’t crush him, but he doesn’t move for a moment other than that. His ear is directly over Louis’ heartbeat and he can hear it as it falters, kicks, and eventually slows down to a more steady beat. 

When he feels like he has the energy, he lifts himself and kisses Louis again, taking the extra time to be cautious of how sore he’s going to be as he pulls out of him and taps the tip of his cock gently between his cheeks. 

Louis’ quiet as Harry cleans him up but so is Harry, his limbs heavy even though he feels practically weightless. It’s all hazy and low lit as the warm rag runs over flushed skin, as Harry slips a t-shirt over him and adjusts the covers. 

Filling up the side of the bed Harry usually leaves empty, Louis is perfect. Just like Harry knew he would be. 

“My sunshine,” Harry murmurs sleepily, lips pressed to Louis’ forehead. “Happy Birthday.” 

“Thank you,” Louis whispers. His fingertips rest light against Harry’s chest, his head tucked between his shoulder and his neck. 

“Was it better?” Harry asks, unable to help himself. 

He can feel the way Louis grins against him despite his tiredness, the way his chin dips into a slow nod. 

“So much better.” 

+

Harry wakes up early on Christmas morning, just like he does every day. He heads downstairs and makes his coffee, puts together some breakfast, and sets Boy’s food bowl down for when he gets up. 

After setting the table, he goes back up to the bedroom again to check on him. Louis’ laying there, cuddled up completely in his duvet, his hand still resting where Harry’s heart was before he left the bed. After sleeping alone for so long, there hadn’t even been words to describe the happiness Harry felt when he awoke to the soft breathing instead of the silence. 

Boy rests happily at the end of the large bed, snoring. He doesn’t seem to mind the new addition either. 

Sipping lightly on his coffee, Harry spends more time than he should watching him. He doesn’t move his gaze until Louis begins stirring, lips parting with a small pout as he stretches and yawns, rubbing his cheek against the soft pillowcase. 

Harry waits until he sits up to smile at him, his eyes softening again at his pretty blush. He crosses over to him and kisses him. 

“Good morning, sunshine.” 

+

On early Friday morning nearly a year later, Harry leaves Louis asleep in bed as he tugs his bag over his shoulder, kissing his forehead in temporary goodbye. Despite having to be apart from him for a few days, Harry can’t shake the happiness he feels, his grin wide on his face all the way to the airport. 

He’s been talking with the sheriff down in California in the town Louis used to live in who’s all too familiar with Louis’ ex. Once Harry explained the situation, he’d been more than happy to help Harry keep tabs on him, and they’ve been waiting for him to slip up and provide them some kind of evidence so that he could finally be arrested and put away for what they hope is a long, long time. 

Harry’d gotten the call late Wednesday night. He told Louis he had some kind of conference in a rush and booked a flight immediately. 

He feels the adrenaline running through him as he meets with the other sheriff, as he goes over the arrest details and the jail sentence sure to proceed him. This, in front of Harry right now, is closure. 

When they get to the scene Harry wastes no time in re-introductions or greetings. He gets straight to the point, Brett’s cold eyes and sneer facing him down. 

“Brett Lincoln,” Harry drawls. “You’re under arrest.” 

He cuffs him and they drive him off without much of a fight, the drugs in his system probably still making him too incoherent to fully comprehend what’s happening to him. Harry’s never seen such a long list of offenses. 

They won’t be hearing from him for a long time. Harry hopes the life sentence from all of his crimes combined does him some good. Or bad, really. He doesn’t much care, so long as he stays out of their lives for good. Louis deserves to rest peacefully from now on. 

He can’t wait to see the look on his face when he tells him. 

+

By the time the sun sets over Aimsley, Texas, Sheriff Styles has managed a fairly productive day. He and Louis ate breakfast together with Boy, then he did his morning rounds. In the afternoon he’d dropped Louis off at the bar - the manager now that Marguerite’s retired - and stopped to pick up their favorite pie from the bakery before it got busy. That night, before he got off work, Harry picked up the ring he’d had specially made a month before, engraved with both of their initials and the zip code to the town. To  _ home.  _

Harry glances over at him in the rocking chair, picturing what he’ll say when he asks him. He can’t wait to start this new chapter of their lives together. Because, sometimes, he’s learned, change can be a good thing. Louis catches him staring but Harry only smiles wider. 

Yeah, he’d say it was a pretty productive day. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> if you like this fic, you can reblog it [here](https://soldouthaz.tumblr.com/post/633565501296132096/sunflowers-sunshine-and-you-e-28k) :)


End file.
